


After Impact

by Monetarily Dizzy (SandOfTheMountain)



Series: Here and Then [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Angelic Lore, Angelic Grace, Angelic Magic, Angels, Author knows nothing about how medical stuff works, Author loves cliff hangers, Author needs to go to church, Brothels, Demons, Doctors, Fae & Fairies, Fallen Angels, Fantasy, Gay Angles, Gayngles, Gen, Heaven, Hell, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Insufferable men, Like some really good soup, Lots of wine, M/M, Magic, Murder, Mystery, Or at least reread the Bible, Religious Discussion, Scarring, Sex workers, Sickness, Soup, TV News, Vomiting, Wine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2018-12-15 08:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 43,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11802084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandOfTheMountain/pseuds/Monetarily%20Dizzy
Summary: Jasrien, Safriel, and Kalagis are angels of God. The three serve the Powers that Be, namely Archangel Michael, but after one of their number Falls to the mortal world for suspicious reasons, it quickly becomes evident that there is trouble in Paradise. Meanwhile, Jeanette Pearson is barely keeping her clinic open and running, and she has no business harboring a fallen angel. And yet...





	1. Angel Errands

     Michael was unhappy. The Archangel was not unused to unhappiness, but he rarely felt it as acutely as he did at that moment.

     “Claire, will you get Kalagis for me?” The Archangel’s voice was soft, everyone in the war room knew to listen. Claire nodded, red robes swishing as she exited the chamber. Michael turned back to his great table, watching lights move about in a way that only he understood. Above the table was an orb of woven gold, and it shimmered and twisted in response to queries Michael sent its way. At least, the orb should respond. Currently, the orb was writhing and trying to turn in upon itself.

     “General.” Kalagis had arrived, powder blue wings tucked primly behind her. “I am here. What do you require?”

     Michael was silent for a moment, tracing a finger along the table. He looked into the orb, grey eyes revealing nothing. “I need you, and your team, to go on a mission. Two, actually.” As the Archangel spoke, a globe of Earth rose from the war table. “Here,” Michael indicated, pointing to the globe, “was a site of intense off-plane activity. Investigate it and report back to me with what you find, if you find anything at all. Then, I need you to go to Avalrix and retrieve the Bogen-Sterne for me. It is a vessel held in a half plane bind at the top of the mountain.” Michael turned his head, finally looking at Kalagis. “Take your standard team. You three are renowned amongst my Lieutenants for your efficiency. Blessed skies upon you.”

     “And upon you, General.” Kalagis bowed, then exited via the balcony she had landed on. Michael watched the clairvoyant depart, then gestured for Claire to leave the room.

     “That was remarkably non-descriptive.” Gabriel’s voice was light, yet his eyes swam with annoyance.

     “I was wondering how long you were going to lurk behind that pillar.” Michael sat down, indicating for Gabriel to take a seat as well.

     “Azrael is here too. I feel I should tell you before he lurks the entire meeting.”

     Michael looked around, not surprised by his inability to find the third Archangel. “Azrael, our brother has spoiled your hiding. At least have the civility to sit down.” Azrael slunk out from a shadow, his ever-burning sword strapped to his back.

     “Seven chairs? Are you calling a full meeting?” Azrael’s voice was guff, a stark contrast to Gabriel’s melody or Michael’s softness.

     Michael waved his hand in the air, not answering the question. Azrael’s question was quickly answered when Uriel and Raphael alighted on the balcony of the War Room.

     Raphael cut directly to the point. “Why are we here?”

     “Because God wills it,” joked Gabriel. His giggles were silenced by Michael’s glare. Zadkiel was next to arrive, wings snapping in the moment his feet touched the floor.

     “I need this to be as swift as possible Michael. My time is extremely limited.” Zadkiel’s tone was apologetic, even if his words were terse.

     “Of course, Zadkiel. I intended to wait for all seven, but six shall suffice. My reason for calling you all here is simple. I have sent three angels to retrieve the Bogen-Sterne. I feel it may be threatened.” Five shocked faces looked at Michael. “I will need one of you to alert Metatron, provided he does not already know. That is all.” The room turned into a flurry of white wings as five Archangels clamored to be the first one to get to the Seraph scribe. Michael’s own white wings fluttered a bit behind him, a nervous action that he had yet to crush. Realistically, Michael knew that the chances of anything interfering with Kalagis and her team were slim. But he couldn’t help but worry. Wheels were turning, and Michael feared he could not see them all.

* * *

 

     Safriel moved quietly through the foliage. Every foot was deliberately placed to avoid a snapped twig or a crunched leaf. The angel’s prey was lying up ahead, oblivious to Safriel’s rapid approach. With a push of his crimson wings Safriel moved up to the thick tree branches, crawling directly above his target. With a playful snarl Safriel fell from the trees onto Jasrien. Jasrien laughed once he had caught his breath, running a hand through Safriel’s hair from his position under the larger angel.

     “It is good to see you too,” wheezed Jasrien, “but you are rather heavy. Could you budge off?”

     “And miss this quality contact? Think again, dearest.” Jasrien sighed as Safriel tweaked his nose.

     “Do not make me remove you.”

     “Make?” Safriel’s eyes flashed. “That is a strong word.” Jasrien grinned as vines sprung from the ground, dragging Safriel off of their master. Jasrien straightened, making a great show of smoothing his silver robes. Jasrien hummed, and with a pop flowers bloomed all along Safriel’s trappings.

     “You look rather dashing like that.”

     “Like what?”

     “Like wrapped in me.”

     “I would rather be draped in you.”

     “What if I were-” Jasrien was cut off by Kalagis’ rather pointed cough. “Lieutenant Kalagis, how goes the morning?”

     Kalagis rolled her eyes, taking her customary spot by the pond in Jasrien’s grotto. “You two are going to be the death of me. Get yourselves ready, we have a mission.”

     Jasrien blinked, vines and flowers falling off of Safriel instantly. “A mission. Did we not just finish closing all those portals in, oh, where was it?”

     “Italy,” Safriel supplied. “And we’ll probably be back soon, seeing as we never found who was opening them in the first place.”

     “Point being, Michael is running us ragged. Can you not tell good Saint Mike to give us a cycle?” The look Kalagis gave the males were answer enough.

     “Are you two ready enough? The mission is in two parts, one is to observe off plane activity in the mortal realm, then to go to Avalrix.”

     Safriel leaned forward, Kalagis’ last word touching a memory. “Avalrix? Was that not a killing field in one of the old wars?”

     “We can research that later. For the time being, assume yes.” Kalgis stood, raking her eyes over her team. “Now let me ask again. Are you two ready?” Two nods later and the trio was airborne, leaving Jasrien’s grotto far behind them. They reached the temple that served as Heaven’s door, and in a shower of light departed the plane.

 

     The trio emerged in a scorched ruin. Soot stained the walls, and everything smelled of old ash and burnt carpet.

     “Charming,” Jasrien commented, picking a splinter from a charred counter. “What happened here?”

     “A fire,” Kalagis said, “but we’re here to investigate what caused it. Jasrien, pry open the elevator doors.” Jasrien moved to comply, spear materializing in his hand. A quick push and the doors practically fell out of the frame. All three angels were on high alert; good things rarely lurked in burnt out buildings. The three flew through the shaft, Jasrien again prying open the doors at the top. The top floor of the building was destroyed beyond recognition, save for the sprawling runes carved into the ground.

     “Above and below,” Safriel breathed. “Those are words in the Old Prose. Mortals do not, should not, know the Old Prose.”

     “The ones who do are definitely the exception,” Kalagis darkly muttered, “for I think there are less than nine in the entire plane.”

     “Mortals, that is.” Jasrien abandoned his investigation of what may have been a billiards table, turning back to his team. “You cannot discount the possibility of a non-mortal.”

     “Indeed. Safriel, can you read these runes? They look unlike any other I’ve seen.”

     “Yes… give me a moment. They’ve scrawled nonsense over everything, trying to disguise each rune. But the Old Prose gives it away.” Safriel crouched, his crimson wings fanned around the runes. “Read here: ‘confinement’. This rune acted as a sort of cage. These lines here act as conduits, connecting this cage to three others around the center. But the four confinement runes all have power channels to this center rune here: ‘arrival.’” Safriel stood, stalking to the outermost circles. “This one is a warp, but it was too big and too poorly done to really work. Here seems to be a much smaller fired warp rune, probably how whoever did this got away. The outermost rune is a shield, but it was burned through when,” Safriel moved to a connection line, “it was all broken apart right here. See, the point where the line meets the circle is smudged. This is where the fire started.”

     Kalagis stood still, mentally filing everything Safriel had told her. “If the rune maker was fluent in Old Prose, why did they bother with runes? And such sloppy ones at that?”

     “Perhaps they were not fluent, but had an old text to guide them?”

     Jasrien had made his way back to the elevator, green wings twitching. “This requires an Archangel, especially if there was an off-plane signature. On an unrelated note, this place freaks me out. May we go?”

     Kalagis slowly turned, unsure why the room made her skin crawl. “Yes. Jasrien, sketch a door to Avalrix.” Jasrien happily obliged, his spear carving a gateway directly into the wall. Jasrien went first, followed closely by Safriel. Kalagis took one last look at the runes, unable to shake the feeling that something was  _ just _ at the edge of realization. Then she walked onto the killing fields of Avalrix, and discovered them to still be very active.


	2. Atop a Broken Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio gets sucker punched in a most unusual way.

Jasrien sighed as his spear got stuck in the demon’s bones. This was the third time his spear had gotten lodged, and it was becoming embarrassing.

“On your right,” yelled Kalagis, releasing three arrows from her bow. Jasrien gracefully countered the demon’s clunky blow, shattering its wrist and collarbone. After the demon was surely dead, he went back to trying to get his spear dislodged.

“Having trouble angel dearest?” Safriel flew down to the ground next to Jasrien, his axe clearing a path for Kalagis. As soon as she had made her way to the others Jasrien summoned a shield, wrapping around the angels and cutting them off from the hordes. The angels took stock of one another. Kalagis’ brown robes hung off of her shoulder, her powder blue wings missing feathers. Safriel was in a similar state, his face was splattered with demon blood and his robe’s top completely gone. Jasrien was still mostly intact, missing feathers and ruffled hair, with only minor dings in his shoulder pauldron.

“You look like you have been fighting hard,” Safriel deadpanned, noting Jasrien’s near pristine appearance. “Care to actually join us anytime soon?”

“It is not a fault on my behalf that a demon cannot get close to me. You two are just sloppy.”

“No demon is getting close to you because we are working twice as hard,” Kalagis said, readjusting her grip on her bow.

Jasrien opened his mouth to make a snippy retort when Safriel ripped Jasrien’s spear out of the demon’s ribcage, sending bone shards flying.

“If you get it stuck again, Kalagis and I are just going to let the demons eat you.” Safriel sounded sincere, but Jasrien could see the smile in his mate’s eyes. Jasrien smiled, taking his spear and spinning it around him.

“How could you go on without me?” Jasrien asked, bringing his spear to his side.

“You two shall stop flirting and get yourselves ready for battle,” Kalagis ordered, nocking an arrow, “We should get back to trying to take the Bogen-Sterne.”

“What?” Safriel mouthed to Jasrien. When he shrugged too, he looked to Kalagis.

“I am not entirely sure what it is,” Kalagis began, steeling herself, “but our task is to retrieve it. Jasrien, drop the shield.” The green dome fell, and the dark rushed in. Kalagis released arrows faster than the eye could follow, and Safriel stood still, countering every attack with a brutal strike of his axe. Jasrien spun through the crowd, using his spear and wings to maneuver around the demons like a dance.

“On your left!” Jasrien called, batting a demon towards Safriel with a bat of his spear. Safriel easily beheaded the demon, impaling another with the end of the axe.

“Mind your back!” Safriel called in response, continuing to fight. Across the battlefield Jasrien gracefully dodged a near-fatal strike, stabbing his pursuer through the head. In yet another area, Kalagis nimbly kicked and punched the advancing demons between volleys of arrows. The three continued, working in tandem, until there was only one left. Kalagis shot once, twice, thrice, four times, taking out the knees and shoulders. Jasrien disinterestedly slammed his spear into the demon’s chest. Ignoring the demon’s screams, Safriel flew up into the air, coming down hard, splitting the demon’s head in half. 

“We need to keep moving,” Safriel said, his axe dissolving into light. “Kalagis, mark out the points. Jasrien, draw the rune…” He trailed off, noticing the distress in Jasrien’s face. Concern flooded Safriel. “Are you alright?”

“It is nothing.” Jasrien said, trying to push Safriel away. “It is just…”

“What?” Safriel said, holding onto Jasrien’s shoulders, worry and fear edging his voice. “Tell me.”

Jasrien lifted his face, a smile dancing on his lips. “My spear is stuck again.” Safriel’s eyes widened, then he pushed Jasrien to the ground.

“Above and below, Jasrien! I thought you were hurt!” Safriel pulled the spear out of the demon, handing it back to the smaller angel.

“My feelings are hurt,” Jasrien pouted, hovering in the air.

“Take this up again when we are off this mountain,” Kalagis said, her wings beating softly as she hovered towards Safriel. “Draw the runes.” Safriel and Kalagis flew up into the air, leaving Jasrien on the ground. With a beat of his wings he was in the air, a gust of wind smoothing out the dark, ashy ground. He began to fly around the field, his spear dragging the dirt, drawing complex symbols and whorls around and between the marking arrows. He was about to draw his last line, completing the circle when he was knocked out of the air by an unseen force. Safriel immediately dove down to catch Jasrien, Kalagis nocking an arrow in a blink of an eye. In the center of the circle a figure appeared. Despite being ragged and broken, it was definitely humanoid, and definitely alive. The sound of Kalagis sucking in her breath was audible. Dressed in black rags, every movement was accentuated with the tiny clinking of the chains half fused into its skin. The thing moved with surprising ease and grace. Safriel was horrified by the being in front of him, unable to tear his eyes away from the jagged twist from where the creature’s wings were broken.

“Jasrien, Safriel, Kalagis.” The creature’s voice was a quiet rasp. “We didn’t want to meet you again like this.”

“Vincintanious,” Safriel breathed. “What happened to you?”

“Hell happened to us.” Vincintanious said quietly. The chains buried in his wrists rattled, and from them another person materialised, in even a rougher state than Vincintanious, connected at the throat by the chains in Vincintanious’ arm.

“Simocian,” Kalagis said, lowering her bow.

Jasrien made a quiet noise in the back of his throat, like the sight of the fallen angel was choking him. “This is what happened to you? Bound together like that?” Simocian made a twisted motion, jerking against the chains that bound him to Vincintanious. His white hair clung to his scalp in clumps, and the ragged stumps of his wings moved slightly, as if he was trying to fly.

“This is what happens,” Vincintanious said quietly, looking at the chains fused into their skin. “When love overrides judgement.”

“Judgment and love work better in unison,” Safriel shot back contemptuously.

Simocian slinked back towards Vincintanious, melting into shadow that reentered the chains in Vincintanious’ wrists. “What happened to you was terrible,” Kalagis said, trying to remain collected, “But what has happened since then was not our doing. Do not obstruct us.”

“That’s beyond us,” Vincintanious said, his voice dead. “We are compelled by a force even we can’t comprehend. Turn away.” Safriel lifted his axe, resignation setting his face. “So be it,” Vincintanious mournfully said. With a flick of his wrists Simocian shot from him, clawing at Safriel. Jasrien brought his spear down, scoring a gash on the demon. Simocian and Vincintanious screamed, Simocian fleeing back into Vincintanious. Kalagis sent arrow after arrow towards the fallen angel, but each was dodged with supernatural agility. Simocian formed, rocketing fifty feet vertically to attack Kalagis. Simocian wrapped his chains around Kalagis’ throat, making no noise as he clawed at her face and eyes, pulling at her silver hair. Simocian wildly laughed as he struck her wings, dematerializing as Kalagis dropped like a stone. Vincintanious laughed then, a shaky and twisted sound. Jasrien rushed the demon, trusting Safriel to catch Kalagis. Spear flashing with unfollowable speed, every strike was met with a flash of light as Vincintanious blocked hit after hit with nothing but the chains in his wrists. Their melee brought them to the edge of the rune etched into the ground, singing with the anticipation of being completed. Jasrien rolled behind Vincintanious, jamming his spear into Vincintanious’ thigh as he turned, sending him to the ground. Jasrien paused before spearing the fallen angel, compassion and duty battling across his face.

“Jasrien, do not hesitate!” Kalagis screamed, but it was in vain. Simocian shot from Vincintanious, leaping across the ground and slashing a mark on Jasrien’s shoulder before clawing over the threshold of the sigil. The effect was immediate, purple light vaporizing the fallen angel across the dome created by the now completed emblem. Tendrils of darkness were held briefly within the light before burning up, white smoke lazily drifting upwards. From the vertex of the dome a pillar of light formed, an object within the pillar.

“A cube,” Safriel noted. “Why am I not surprised.”

“That must be the Bogen-Sterne,” Kalagis said, flying to the hovering object.

“You mean to imply you were sent here without knowing what you were getting?” The three angels stopped, all looking to where Vincintanious sat on the ground, an amused look on his face. He got up slowly, rolling his shoulders. “Heaven really has gone to Hell since I’ve been gone.”

“But…” Jasrien said eloquently.

Vincintanious jerked his head towards the edge of the rune. “Simocian might have been driven mad, but he was no fool. You should thank him really, finishing your job for you.”

“What are you saying?” Safriel said slowly.

“He completed your unbinding rune.” Vincintanious said, a smile splitting across his face. A rune started, willingly, by an angel, completed by the same angel. More or less. You see, runes don’t care how the line is made, provided the blood that starts it ends it.”

Jasrien touched the still bleeding cut on his shoulder, the weight of what happened hitting him. “Simocian completed the rune with my blood.”

“An unbinding rune, yes. You got your ark from the mountain, my beloved and I became unbound.”

“But you still failed. Simocian burned in the rune’s discharge.”

“It’ll take more than that to kill him,” Vincintanious said flippantly. “It’ll be a while before I see my beloved again, but he’s far from gone. Far indeed.”

Safriel strode up to the fallen angel, picking him up by the neck. “Quit playing games, or I will end you here.” Safriel shook Vincintanious, hefting him higher. “Something unnatural happened, and you’re going to tell us what it was or else I am personally going to send you back to Hell.”

Something close to fear crossed Vincintanious’ eyes, then surprise. He rolled his eyes spectacularly as frost formed around Safriel’s fingers, thickening into ice. Vincintanious dropped to his feet, swaying slightly. Wings of ice grew from the stumps on his back, and his clothes changed, morphing into robes of brown and grey. A red pendant hung from his neck, and a cold light returned to his eyes.

“Angel of Winter.” Kalagis breathed. She sucked in her breath as ice shot from Vincintanious’ fingers, encasing Safriel and Jasrien completely.


	3. Devil's Advocate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kalagis gets to make a super fun decision, and then gets to watch the consequences of her choice.

Vincintanious looked into Kalagis’ eyes, all the fury of winter dancing behind the stone grey irises. He had all the chips and nothing to lose. “You will give me the Bogen-Sterne, and I will let your friends go. You can shoot me down, sure. But you’ll never be able to get your friends out of the ice before it kills them.” Vincintanious rolled his wrist for added effect, an ice shard forming between his fingers. “Crunch time for Kalagis,” he said, crushing the ice shard. “Should she let the bad fallen angel take the possibly important relic? Or lose her two friends and try to win back Michael’s favor with an old box, ignoring the fact that there’s a vacancy or two in the ranks?”

Kalagis seethed for a moment, a small part of her admiring the audacity of the play. “You may take the cube,” she said at last, “But I get two questions answered and my friends returned unharmed.”

Vincintanious paused, then nodded. “After you retrieve the Bogen-Sterne. Keep in mind too, you’re friends are in a bit of a delicate, time sensitive situation.”

Kalagis plucked the hexahedron from the light, wincing slightly as she handed over the relic. “What is the Bogen-Sterne?”

The fallen angel spun the hexahedron in his hands, running his fingers across the edge of a face. “The box is a relic created by Lucifer towards the end of the War in Heaven. It’s basically a prison for demons. The catch is, it can only be used by other demons. At some point in our long and glorious history, the box was bound to this mountain along with whatever was inside of it, then made only accessible to angels by some fiendishly clever runes. Next question?”

“Who sent you? Who orchestrated all of this?”

“That was two questions.” Vincintanious’ tone was sour as he ground his heel into the ashy soil. “But to answer both of them at the same time, I don’t know. But it’s someone in a very high, or perhaps very low, place. Major power, paying exquisite attention to every detail. Do you have any concept of the magic it must have taken to give me back my power? I have everything back, as if I were in the peak of my season. And I’m not worried, per se, but I do harbor some concern about what the future holds. But it’s all…” The fallen angel vaguely waved his hand, “Whatever. I helped, I’ll be spared. And I ain’t going back to Hell.” Vincintanious bowed graciously before breaking apart like dust scattered by the wind. The ice around the other two angels cracked at once, and they fell to the ground shivering uncontrollably.

“What have we done?” Jasrien asked between chattering teeth. “What did you do?”

“What I had to do,” Kalagis said numbly, sitting down. “It is my duty as your commander and as your friend to keep you two alive.” She stared ahead, eyes flat and pensive. “Now we just need to figure out what to do next.

Safriel scratched the warp rune into the ground as Jasrien helped Kalagis stand. 

“It will be fine,” Safriel said reassuringly. As Kalagis and Jasrien entered the portal, Safriel wondered if he believed his own words.

 

The angels had returned to Heaven easily enough. They emerged from the temple that served as the entrance to Heaven, the familiar sight of the rings of landmasses drifting lazily around the golden sphere greeting the trio. Endless stars surrounded the sphere, soft light given off by the central orb illuminating the Rings of Heaven. Kalagis left them, heading to the central ring to report the mission to Michael. Jasrien and Safriel headed towards the outer ring, where Jasrien’s garden awaited. They alighted softly on the moss covered stone, the curtain of vines peeling back to admit the two angels. They entered the grotto, following the path and stream to the pond in the center. They slowly flew into the branches of the great tree in the center of the pond, settling down among the leaves.

“Rest softly my Safriel, for I doubt we will have peace like this for a while.” Jasrien sighed, his words morose. “I have erred, and in a most spectacular fashion.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” Safriel said, nudging Jasrien’s ribs. “There will be an investigation, you will be confined to Heaven for a while, and then life will continue. It is not as if you purposefully helped Simocian escape, or restore Vincintanious’ power.” Jasrien sighed as he rested his head on Safriel’s chest, comforted by his warmth. “All will be fine,” Safriel murmured, running his fingers through Jasrien’s hair. “It will be fine.” Jasrien soon fell asleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically against Safriel’s. It always amused Safriel that despite not needing sleep, Jasrien slept an awful lot.

 

While Safriel and Jasrien were in the tree, Kalagis was cautiously giving her summary of the day to Michael. He had immediately noticed she didn’t have the Bogen-Sterne, and after his initial frustration had asked for a full report. She was giving her report in full detail as instructed, stopping when she saw the Archangel raise his eyebrows at her mention of Vincintanious and Simocian.

“Two fallen angels were sent to stop you from retrieving the Bogen-Sterne?” Michael looked off the balcony of the war room, gazing at the golden sphere in the center of the landmass rings. “This is troublesome.” He turned back, gesturing for her to continue her report. She did, and when she got to the point where Simocian unbound himself he made an audible gasp. “Simocian is free? Unbound to Vincintanious, and out of Hell?” Kalagis nodded miserably, and Michael continued to pace on the balcony. “Simocian was never an exemplary angel, and his troublesome attachment to Vincintanious only furthered his potential to dissent.”

“Love is not a troublesome attachment,” Kalagis said. “Love is a force.”

“Do you perhaps refer to your teammates Jasrien and Safriel?” Michael’s tone was almost bored. “They are under observation, and not considered a threat. Well, they were not. Jasrien’s actions today proved otherwise.”

“He did not mean to facilitate the unbinding of Vincintanious and Simocian.” Kalagis protested, determined not to let her friend be criticized without a supporter.

“That may be, but according to Angel Maalik, after Simocian fell he became an agent of chaos. Malevolent and mad, trapped within another person. Never forget the truth of those events, Simocian sinned first and was actively ejected from Heaven. Vincintanious just followed later.” Michael disgustedly shook his head. “He is dangerous.” Michael gazed at his globes and war table before looking at Kalagis. “The trial and sentencing of the Angel Jasrien shall commence in ten hours. You have no obligations until the trial.” Michael turned from her, dismissing her with a wave. Kalagis kept her poise until she was out of the war room and into the hallway. She fell into a recess, resting her head against her knees, eyes wide as she tried to see what would happen in just ten short hours.

 

Jasrien knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was in deeper trouble than ever before when the Archangel Gabriel came to him to inform him that his trial would take place in four hours. Gabriel lingered for a moment, making sure Jasrien appreciated the consequences of not appearing for his trial. Satisfied that his message had been suitably delivered, Gabriel flew off to whatever his next task was. Jasrien roused Safriel, and after they dressed they awaited Kalagis to join them in the garden. The three sat in silence until Safriel broke into laughter.

“I am sorry,” he kept saying. “But we sit like you are already gone. You will be tried, found guilty to a small offence, put on probation, then all will be normal in such a little time.”

Jasrien looked at Safriel for a moment, then patted his leg. “It’s a good thing you are cute,” he said, “Or else your relentless optimism would be cause for me to leave you.” Kalagis smiled, munching on an apple from one of Jasrien’s trees. Jasrien absentmindedly summoned his spear, doodling a rune into the ground as way to kill time. He was almost relieved when the trial escort showed up, a tennin he had never met before. The three followed the tennin, their wings and the tennin’s kimono flapping softly in the wind as they flew to the amphitheater where trials were conducted. 

As Jasrien alighted on the raised pillar where the accused stands, Safriel and Kalagis took their seats on the nearby benches. Jasrien’s spear was produced and given to the tennin on duty. Should Jasrein be innocent, the spear would be returned. If guilty… Jasrien did not want to think about the possibility of a guilty verdict. Jasrien was surprised at the number of angels that attended, he had never thought himself as a terribly popular or influential angel. He saw several younger angels who he tangentially knew, and one older scarred angel whose name he couldn’t place. Jasrien also knew, without looking, that on the bottom left seat stewed one very irritated angel- Jasrien could practically feel the heat radiating off of her. Abathar Muzzania called the trial to order, and everything from then happened as a blur. The charges were read out against him. Kalagis and Safriel gave their accounts of what happened, bound by their angelic nature to tell nothing but the truth. Abathar Muzzania considered every answer carefully before asking the next, eventually nodding.

“The questioning is over.” Abathar Muzzania declared. “The soul of the accused shall now be weighed.” Abathar Muzzania produced a set of scales, and Jasrien held his breath as the scales teetered, then fell to one side. Abathar Muzzania looked up, and said one word: “Guilty. The accused shall be banished.” 

Jasrien looked at Safriel for only a moment before everything happened. The tennin moved, and Jasrien’s golden spear flashed. The angel barely felt the gash as the tennin ceremoniously gutted him. He certainly felt nothing as he teetered back, over to the edge of the amphitheater- over the edge. Then the world opened up and he was falling into some great unknown.


	4. Doctor, Doctor, Give Me The News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jasrien has become well acquainted with the pavement. Jeanette Pearson just wants to go home.

Jeanette Pearson was having a bad day. Three of her six nurses had called in sick, and her clinic was overflowing. She honestly didn’t know how long she could keep going herself; Jeanette had been using a lot of tissues and taking a lot ibuprofen lately. The break room couch was extraordinarily comfortable under her aching body, but she knew she’d have to get back on her feet soon. Patients had remarkably little patience.

Nurse Pam walked into the room, followed closely by Nurse Lou. “Boss, we got a guy in room six you’ll want to see.” Jeanette opened one eye, surprised by the look in Pam’s eye. The nurse was positively shaken, and Pam was not easily shaken. “We don’t know how he got in, Lou just walked in and he was there, straight up babbling in some language we don’t understand. He keeps jerking his shoulders and laughing, but there’s this look in his eyes that gives me the shivers, Jeanette. I don’t like it one bit.”

Jeanette stood, putting her hands in her pockets. “Think it’s drugs?” Pam and Lou gave identical shrugs. “Fine, I’ll go look at him. If I start screaming, have Phillipe in here with a tranquilizer faster than greased lightning.” Jeanette got a firm nod, then strode into the hallway. Listening, she could hear all the normal sounds of her clinic: quiet conversations among patients, a child crying as their first vaccine was administered, the gentle playlist her son had put together to play because ‘mom, it would totally be better than just silence.’ But Jeanette also heard the man in room six. She couldn’t place the language he was speaking, but whatever he was saying, he was saying a lot and he was saying it loudly. Jeanette knocked primly on the door to room six then opened it.

The man looked at Jeanette as she came in, eyebrows coming together. He was, in Jeanette’s opinion, absurdly beautiful and definitely crazy. She saw what Pam had mentioned, the way he kept moving and clenching his shoulders and back. His fingers rhythmically flexed at his sides, and his eyes had a gleam that she didn’t altogether like. The man said a word that Jeanette didn’t understand, then another.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but I can’t understand you. Could you please show me if you’re injured, or, if you know another language, indicate which one you speak? Among my staff on call we speak English, Spanish, and French, and I can call a staffer at home who speaks Farsi. Or-”

“English will be fine,” the man laughed. “I’m sorry for not speaking it sooner, but no one had talked to me yet; I didn’t know what language to use.” The man ran a hand through his hair and looked at Jeanette with that implacable gaze. He either didn’t notice how crazy his words sounded or he didn’t care. “If you could just point me in the direction of some great danger or person in need, I’ll be right on my way.”

Jeanette blinked. She heard what the man said, but that sure didn’t mean she understood it. “Sir, I don’t think you’ll be rushing off anywhere any time soon. Only the sick and injured end up here, and I can’t allow any patients running off without at least a cursory check.”

“Ah,” the man said airily, “but I have no money.” He grinned then, as if he had made a great joke of Jeanette.

“We’re a free clinic.” Jeanette replied.

The man leaned back, putting a hand to his head. “What if my affliction is one of the mind? No mere bandage could help that!”

“I have a psychologist two rooms down.”

The man straightened and pouted. “Madame, I’m sure you’re lovely, but I really need to do some good and go home. ‘Only for the virtuous and worthy shall the gates reopen, for the apathetic and wicked all doors shall stay forever barred.’ All that good old nonsense.” He leaned forward slightly, poking the little cross Jeanette wore around her neck. “You really should help me. All that help thy neighbor stuff.” He stood then, or at least tried to stand. The moment he put weight on his feet and legs his knees buckled and he fell into Jeanette. “Oh!”

Jeanette caught the man with ease and sat him back on the examination table. He was small, but surprisingly dense. “Lie down on the table please.” He complied, grudgingly, and Jeanette began to listen to his heartbeat. “So, what’s your name?” Jeanette reasoned that was a fairly safe question.

The man rolled his eyes. “Which name? I’m known as the flower bringer, a dancer of death, demon slayer, and as a possessor of endless beauty.” Jeanette must have made a noise or a face, because he looked at her with annoyance. “I’ve been called all those things,” he insisted. He frowned. “I suppose you may call me by my common name, Jasrien.”

“That was a lot of wind up for one word. No last name?”

“Not as you have, no.”

Jeanette chose not to respond to that. It was time for a change of subject. “Where are you from, Jasrien? Take off your shirt please.”

“My shirt? Rather forward. I’ll have you know my mate-”

“Please stop talking for the moment. I’m checking for upper body abrasions. Do you take anything seriously?”

Jasrien’s eyes abruptly narrowed and his voice darkened. “I take lots of things seriously Jeanette. This is not one of them.”

Jeanette was taken aback by the sudden intensity, but was quickly absorbed in the scarring all along Jasrien’s upper body. “You look like you’ve seen a knife fight or two.”

“Something like that.” Jasrien’s voice was back to normal, but the intensity was still there, barely perceptible in the air.

“Have you been mixed up in all that violence that’s popped up recently? This one gash here…” Jeanette gently traced a large scar across Jasrien’s abdomen. Her attention was quickly diverted to a spot just below by Jasrien’s navel; the skin was a deep purple, and she could both see and feel the swelling. “Oh my.” Jasrien winced and pushed her hands away. He sat up and pulled on his shirt, then made another effort to stand up. To his credit, Jasrien didn’t fall over this time.

“That was it. There was a line and that was it and it has been crossed. I think we’re done for now. Thank you for your services.” Jeanette moved to stop him, but Jasrien caught her hands and put them at her side. “You’ve had your check. I have a mission. Thank you for your services.” The man gently brushed Jeanette to the side and strode out the door, leaving Jeanette standing behind him. In all her years of running the clinic, she had never had someone actually move her out of their way.

After only a moment of standing dumbstruck, Jeanette began to yell. “Jasrien, wait a moment! Pam! Lou! The patient from room six is bleeding internally, stop him!” She was running down the hall, but Jasrien had seemingly vanished. “Where…” Jeanette stood in the doorway, slowly turning a circle. Jasrien had vanished. “Where did he go?” She looked helplessly at the nurses that had assembled by her side.

“I don’t know Jeannie, but you’ve got that meeting with the executives in like ten minutes,” Pam said. “Get outta the coat and haul ass, Lou and I’ll take care of closing here.” Jeanette nodded, wordlessly taking off her medical coat and putting on her windbreaker. She walked to the meeting office as if in a daze, vaguely perturbed by the feeling that she was being watched. Jeanette arrived to the board meeting exactly three minutes before it started, and the neurotically early part of her grumbled at cutting it so close. Jeanette mildly wondered where everyone else was, but she chalked it up as just another weird part of her increasingly weird day and pushed the thought out of her mind. Jeanette took her seat, only to be disgusted when Percy took the seat across from her.

“Mrs. Pearson. How lovely to see you.”

“Ms. Pearson, Percival.” Jeanette may have corrected him a little sharply, but Jeanette quickly found that she didn’t care.

“Ah, how careless of me.” Percy smiled that greasy smile and turned his attention away from Jeanette. Jeanette hated Percy. Everything about him unpleasantly reminded Jeanette of a frog, from the acid green suit he always wore to these meetings to the ribbiting coughs he pressed into a handkerchief. As awful as Percy was, Jeanette was almost completely dependent on his status as a  _ very _ wealthy private donor to keep her clinic running.

“Do you know what’s on the agenda for today, Percy?”

He regarded her with a waxy, vacant smile. “I do not have the foggiest idea, Ms. Pearson. But if I were a betting man, oh ho, I would suspect that today we will talk about the current state of the city.”

Jeanette fought the urge to groan. “What do you mean by that?”

Percy treated her to another vacant smile, this one slightly smacking of condescension. “This city you call home is slowly dying, Ms. Pearson. I would have thought that you would have known this, seeing as how you are on the front lines.”

“Front lines? The city’s a lot of things, but we’re not at war.”

“Are we not though?” Percy’s eyes gleamed. “Surely you have noticed the recent increase of gang violence. Who would have guessed, gangs here. I would call that a war.” Jeanette had, in fact, noticed the increase of gang violence. Not that she could tell Percy that, as he just kept steamrolling his point. “On top of that, there is that new strain of influenza knocking people down left and right. It may not be violence, but the body count rises. I can only pray that I do not come down with it- I am not sure my elderly immune system could handle the virus.”

“We can only hope,” Jeanette deadpanned. Percy took it as an agreement however, and nodded at Jeanette.

“Honestly, with the way things are right now I am a little worried about your clinic.” Jeanette froze, eyes fixed to the toad-like man. “I mean, with the violence and the disease running rampant it is getting more and more expensive to keep non-profits like yours open.”

“You sound like you have a point you’re getting at.”

Percy adjusted his hat and looked Jeanette dead in the eyes. “Have you considered becoming a for-profit, or even closing down and moving to a larger hospital? At this point, even becoming incorporated into a larger healthcare network would be better than this death by attrition.”

Jeanette stood, snatching her purse from the back of her chair. “I will never turn away a patient. That’s probably a stupid decision that’s always going to put me in the red. But I will never profit off of other people’s suffering and deny care to those who need it. And the moment I transition to for-profit, that’s what I’m doing.”

“Not necessarily,” Percival said smoothly, rising as well, “Your ideals run hotter than your ability to see facts, I see. It is obvious that you are not exactly, how shall we say, ready to consider the idea just yet. Give it some time, please just think it over.” He paused a moment, looking at his watch, then at his planner. “Foolish us, it seems the meeting was next week. I hope I have not been too terrible company.”

“Not at all,” Jeanette lied through her teeth.

“I must take my leave of you then, Ms. Pearson. “I shall see you next week. And please think on my suggestions. I do not want to see you fail, but times are changing. Just think on it.” With a curt bow Percy left the room. Jeanette was still standing, clutching the back of the table for support. She would be dead before her clinic was transformed against her wishes. Dead. Jeanette let out a deep sigh before collecting her things and heading home.

As Jeanette walked the familiar path home, her head spun with thoughts. From the mundane-  _ damn, it’s cold _ \- to the worrisome- Percy- to the unusual- namely, Jasrien. The man fascinated her, but Jeanette couldn’t put her finger on why for the life of her. Something about him just felt different; it was as if she could look at him and just tell that he mattered.

“He doesn’t matter now,” Jeanette said to herself. Jasrien was gone, out of her clinic and out of her hair. Except not quite. The street was silent except for the noise of Jeanette’s bag hitting the sidewalk, dropped from her stunned fingers. Sitting on the steps to her apartment was Jasrien. He looked almost bored, but broke into a huge smile when he saw Jeanette.

“There you are,” he exclaimed. “I was worried I had tracked you to the wrong place.”

“Why…” Jeanette was struggling to get words to form in her head. “Why are you outside of my house?”

“Oh. That. I’m here because you’re in danger and I’m going to protect you.” Jeanette finally got her head together and wordlessly brushed past him. “Wait, wait! I need to help you so I can go to Heaven!”

“Go do some community service.”

Jasrien impatiently jittered his foot. “Not in the silly human way, for real. I’m an angel of God. I am Jasrien, angel of nature and harbinger of the jasmine flower, placed in mortal form so that I might atone for my errors. And I can do that by protecting you from whatever great danger I can sense is hanging over you!”

Jeanette gave Jasrien one long look. “You’re batshit.” Then she waltzed into the building, up the stairs, and into her apartment. Jeanette locked the door with satisfaction, finally putting the bizarre day behind her as she went to draw a bath.


	5. Processing Error

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Companions to misery must be carefully chosen. Safriel draws the short end of the stick. In related news, Kalagis reaffirms her bullshit intolerance.

Safriel sat numbly at the gate of Jasrien’s grotto. The flowers were wilting. It had been less than a day since the trial and already the flowers were dying, deprived of their master. Safriel sat silently among the dying flowers, desperately wishing he could breathe life back into them. They were always so beautiful when in bloom. Safriel carefully picked up a bud, his frown deepening as the flower continued to visibly brown and die. Safriel lowered his head, almost missing the sound of wings.

“You are like the flowers,” a voice said. “Dying without him.”

Safriel turned, regarding the intruder for half a second before wordlessly turning away. Glodria stood almost perfectly still, mouth twitching in the corner as she watched the miserable angel. The two were quiet, Safriel looking at the gate and Glodria looking at Safriel. A faint wind stirred the garden, catching the edge of Glodria’s ubiquitous maroon trench coat. There was silence, save for the flapping of the coat and the sounds of Safriel’s breaths. Safriel didn’t know why Glodria was here. He didn’t care. He just wanted to be left alone in the silence to think. Then the silence was broken. Safriel buried his head deeper as a third pair of wings joined them.

“What are you doing here?” Kalagis’ voice was like a knife.

“I came to watch Safriel mope, is it not obvious?” Glodria’s voice was caught in a blend somewhere between icy disinterest and fiery annoyance.

Kalagis’ face twisted in anger. “Tell me why you are here.” It wasn’t a question anymore.

“Because I was right,” Glodria said, her tone lofty. “All the way back then, the same day Vince, Divmange, and I faced that Phyrrus demon, I told Jasrien that he was careless and that he would pay for it.”

“Simocian too,” Safriel whispered.

“What?” Glodria went still.

“Simocian was there too, that day.” The other angels had to strain to hear Safriel, buried between his knees. “That was the day he Fell. Why do you not remember that? You were there.”

Glodria’s smile became brittle, and the fire behind her eyes flared. “I choose to only remember the good parts of that day.”

“Your brother nearly died,” Kalagis said. “He was scorched by the demon and nearly destroyed. That was the explicit reason Simocian went beserk. There were no good parts to that day.”

“As I said,” Glodira forced out, her smile becoming painful as she looked at Kalagis. “I only remember the best of that day. Vince did not die. And his distraction was removed.”

“He was heartbroken,” Safriel murmured.

Glodria turned her head to Safriel, not hearing him. “Do speak up Safriel, no one can hear you with your head down between your knees like that.”

“He was heartbroken,” Safriel repeated, his head barely inching up. “Simocian’s Falling destroyed him.”

“Which is why I am here. I am going to give you good advice I should have given Vince all those years ago. If Jasrien comes back, if he finds some quest and makes his way back to this realm, do not continue to love him. He is sloppy, careless, and has disappointed you. He will only do it again. You deserve better, Safriel. You can be so much more without that pathetic excuse for-”

Kalagis’ fist moved faster than anything Safriel had ever seen before. Glodira’s jaw snapping was audible as the angel of summer fell to the ground. “Do not,” Kalagis breathed, “insult Jasrien. Not in his garden, to his friends, while he is not here. I thought you were smarter than that.”

Glodria’s right hand flashed with energy as she healed her jaw, her left staying close to the handle of her whip. “I beg you to reconsider, clairvoyant. Do not pick a fight with your better.”

“Your arrogance disgusts me,” Kalagis said, turning away from Glodria. “You think yourself my better? I would destroy you. And should it look for a moment that I might lose-”

Safriel lifted his head higher, just enough to make eye contact with the humbled angel. “I would beat you into the ground.”

Glodria stood in a fluid movement, smoothing her coat, “Fine then. I have done everything I wanted to do. I watched Jasrien pay for his incompetence, I have delivered my message, and I have reaffirmed my dislike of the two of you. Good day to you both.” With a push of her wings Glodria was airborne, leaving nothing but embers where she had fallen.

“Well, that was a massive waste of our time.” Kalagis sat down, indicating for Safriel to join her. “How are you doing?”

“It is hard,” Safriel said after a moment.

“I know,” Kalagis said.

Something came untethered inside Safriel. “How can you know? How can you feel it like I do and still be able to keep going? How can you stand there and just look at me?” His sentences became ragged as he began to weep.

Kalagis was still. “I do not feel it as you do. I cannot imagine how you feel right now. As his friend, I am devastated by our loss. Your pain is beyond my imagining. That is how I keep going. Because you have to be sad. Your misery is so acute and justified you cannot afford to try to keep it within you. It is why you sit here among the dying flowers. And I keep my head up and keep going, because I am in a position where I can. I am grieving, do not think for a second I am not. But I also hold a great faith that he will return to us. And I know that you face a long path ahead until he does. So that is how I stand here.” Safriel felt Kalagis’ wing brush his, and he laid his head on her shoulder. All of Kalagis’ individual words didn’t make much sense for one reason or another. The feeling was there, the intention, but her sentences ran on to one another and didn’t mean anything by themselves. She always lost control of her words when faced with too much emotion. And that alone made Safriel want to weep anew.

“I do not deserve you as my friend,” Safriel murmured.

“Everyone needs friends,” Kalagis replied. “It is how we get through trying times.”

Safriel hiccoughed, then began to cry again. He tried to say something, composed himself, then tried again when he trusted his ability to articulate real words. He needed to talk about something else. “Michael will need to reorganize the guards for the solstice and reascension.”

Kalagis looked at Safriel, a question on the tip of her tongue. “Oh, I suppose.”

“I am sure he will have it done well in time before though. Is this not why we have Ntazil and the like?”

Kalagis huffed a brief sigh. “Yes, but I do not especially like Ntazil. He is so… ancient. Even for an angel.”

“Is he a veteran from the rebellion?”

“Yes.”

“So he is a good angel.”

“He is an old angel.”

“Fair.” Safriel made a motion to stand, but before he could Kalagis placed a firm hand on his chest.

“Do not force yourself back to being normal. Things are not normal, in any way. Stay how you wish to be for as long as you need. We are relieved of duties for now.”

“Michael is so kind as to grant us leave?”

“I am that kind. Michael will have to accept both my decisions and our, shall we say, disinclination to work for a while.” That earned a smile and weak laugh from Safriel. Kalagis treasured the sound.

“Thank you, Kalagis.”

“Do not trouble yourself over it,” Kalagis said, pulling Safriel into a long hug. Then she left, and Safriel was alone once again- the angel amidst the flowers. He picked up another bud and felt it wither, crumble into dust. Wind gently blew through the garden, and Safriel was quiet.

 

Glodria sat by a fountain, a hand massaging her jaw. It still hurt from where that miserable clairvoyant had broken it, but it was no great matter. If Safriel wanted to be difficult and get hurt, then that was his choice. Glodria had an unhappy relationship with choices. She loved to have them herself, but was often frustrated by other people’s misuse of them. They all had so few choices in their eternal lives. So lost in thought, Glodria didn’t hear the wings landing on the other side of the fountain.

“Did you step out of line Glodria? How utterly unexpected from you.” Glodria’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. For just a mere second she had heard another brother’s voice. Then she opened her eyes and turned to look at Vertran.

“I said what needed to be said. No more, no less.”

“I am sure.” Vertran sat on the fountain, delicately arranging his stole. His fingers danced from the sheer fabric to the flowers that snaked their way up his chest and down his legs, then to the fountain he was sitting on, the tips pounding a beat on the surface of the water. Vertran had always possessed restless fingers, and they had gotten him in and out of trouble more times than either angel could ever care to count. “Sister mine, may I suggest you try to keep to yourself for the time being?”

“Why would you suggest that?”

“Because you run hot,” Vertran hummed, “and you will burn through everyone and everything in your path. And that is not quite a good thing, no matter what you believe.”

Glodria scrunched her nose but said nothing more on that subject. She hated to admit it, but Vertran wasn’t entirely wrong. “When will Atasha be here next?”

Vertran gave a huge shrug and a similarly sized smile, quirking the vines at the edge of his mouth. “Who knows? Atasha does as Atasha pleases, and the faster we accept that the better.”

“True.” Glodria grinned, Vertran’s smile was infectious. “What are your thoughts on the whole deal with the Bogen-Sterne?” Both angels’ smiles faded.

“I am sympathetic to Kalagis,” Vertran said, “but I wish it had not happened as it did. Especially if everything we have been told is true. But I do not quite trust that Michael has told us the entire tale of the box.”

“Do not pity Kalagis,” Glodria muttered. She bit her lip, focusing on her memories and knowledge of the relic in question. “I remember when all that happened,” Glodria said pensively. “I was not there myself, but I remember when all the angels came back from that broken mountain. I remember that mountain before it was broken too. I wonder if the streams have cleared of blood, and if the trees have branches of bark or of bone.”

“I had yet to be born, but I once asked Atasha about it. She was there herself, at the mountaintop. She said she was in the air when it happened, but she refused to tell me any more. Or clarify what ‘it’ is.” Vertran thought for a moment, “Refused to tell me more save that it was the only time she had seen Michael lose.”

“We won that battle though?”

“We got more angels home than Lucifer took demons. But that, dear sister, is not the same as winning.”

Glodria massaged her jaw one more time before looking at the dimming light of the golden orb. “I must be off soon. I am so sorry that we see each other so little.”

“It is what it is.”

“No. I only have you and Atasha. With Vince… the way he is, it is just the three of us now. And I need to do more to remember that.”

“Yes. You also need to stop picking pointless fights.”

Glodria treated Vertran to another rare smile. “It is like you said. I run hot.”

Vertran let out a laugh, a bouncing thing of noise that cheered Glodria immensely. “As you say.” Vertran gave his sister a hug and watched her sail away. He idly caressed a flower on his hip, lost in his thoughts. The world was changing. Even the angels were changing. Change was not necessarily a bad thing, not at all. Change was like time, no, that wasn’t right at all. Change and time were essentially the same thing, in Vertran’s eyes. Both were unstoppable forces that just kept moving. And would keep moving until the ultimate end of all things. But on this fountain, gazing at the golden sphere, Vertran did have to wonder if change by definition required suffering, or if it was just the most common side effect.


	6. Chit-Chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeanette learns something about herself, and Jasrien wants a cup of tea.

“Jeanette! Let me in!” Jasrien had been shouting for hours. Literal, actual hours. Three and a half of them to be precise. At this point he wasn’t shouting so much as croaking, but his words still made their way up to Jeanette’s window. Jeanette was sitting at her little kitchen bar table, one foot absently tapping the long legs of the the chair she was slumped in. She was about halfway through a bottle of wine. It had been a day. Thank god her son was out at a friend’s house. Now Jeanette could suffer alone. “Jeanette! It is cold!” Jeanette felt a muscle in her forehead she didn't even know existed throb. That was it. She was going to say something. Jeanette stalked to the window, throwing the curtains aside as she stuck her head out.

“Of course it’s cold! It’s February! What the hell do you expect?” From the street, Jasrien blinked up at her.

“Yeah, but it’s really cold! Menacing angel kind of cold! You should let me in so I can best protect you.” Jeanette blinked and took another pull of wine. She really pitied the fools who actually spent money on glasses for wine. It was so much more efficient to drink straight from the bottle.

“Go home!”

“I’m trying!”

“I’m going to call the police if you keep up!”

“Jeanette!”

“Shut up! Stop calling my name! Who are you, Stanley Kowalski? Cause I ain’t no Stella! Why should I let you in!?”

“Because I’m an angel, and you’re a good person.” Jasrien’s raspy voice sounded very sincere. Of course, Jeanette was aware that crazy people rarely knew they were crazy. But as ridiculous as Jasrien was, he didn’t seem  like he would hurt her. He just truly believed that he was an angel of God.

“Can you prove it?” Jeanette had drank too much at this point, no doubt about it. But between the wine and her own curiosity, she was ready to give the man half a chance if only to prove him wrong. Something deep inside Jeanette shivered at the idea that Jasrien might be right though. Some small, integral part of her shook in its boots.

“That I’m an angel? Yes. But you have to let me in.” Jeanette let out a small laugh as she ducked to the door, grabbing her keys and walking down the stairs. She opened the apartment building’s door, a smirk on her face as she stood eye to eye with Jasrien.

“Up we go,” she said simply. The two made their way up to her apartment. The door’s paint was slightly peeling, and a sign had been tacked on the front; “the doctor is  _ lit” _ was scrawled in teenage handwriting.

“Cute,” Jasrien remarked.

“My son,” Jeanette said by way of explanation. “I really should take it down. But I can’t help but think that it’s kinda funny.” Jeanette pushed against the door, cursing the slightly crooked frame. She threw her key in the dish by the door, then turned to Jasrien. He was standing uncertainly in the hallway, looking into the apartment.

Jasrien offered a sheepish smile. “Please invite me into your home. I can come in independently, but I’m hungry and I want to be able to eat and not worry about litigation.”

“What the actual hell do you mean?”

“Angels have to be invited to join mortals and act… casually. Otherwise we’re bound to be poised and such, and there are bunch of stupid rules we have to follow.”

If she was taking Jasrien at his word, that meant that all of his behavior up until now had been poised and professional. Jeanette was slightly concerned as to what the meant for his “casual” manners, but she didn’t think that was worth worrying about right now. “Sure. I invite you in.”

“Oh thank goodness. Do you have tea? Or a cough drop? My throat hurts quite terribly.”

“I wonder why,” Jeanette said dryly. She moved to the kitchen, getting out a mug and putting on the kettle. “Do you have a tea preference?”

“I have my own!” Jasrien brightly reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of flowers.

Jeanette gawked, then swore. “In the six hours I’ve known you, I’ve seen and experienced a lot of weird shit. But that right there, the fact that you just have flowers in your pocket, takes the entire fucking cake.”

Jasrien made a face. “Oh, please don’t curse like that. I can’t, and it’s incredibly unfair. As to the jasmine, it just kinda sprouts up whenever I’m barefoot on the grass. I eventually just got tired of leaving a trail of flowers, so I picked them up.”

Jeanette pointed to Jasrien’s feet, very obviously in shoes. “But you’re not barefoot?”

“I’m not now. I was when I woke up though. Then this nice man just took his shoes off and gave them to me. Wasn’t that so kind?” Jeanette stared at Jasrien for a moment, not sure what to say.

“A man…” She shook her head. It was time to get down to business. “Prove to me you’re an angel.”

“Beyond the flowers?”

“Yes.” Jeanette leaned in, ready to see what nonsense he threw at her.

“Oh. Alright.” He paused, and sat down on the floor. “Your name is Jeanette Marie Pearson. You love your son quite dearly, but everything about you is tinged with stress. Probably because you are a single mother raising a child. You recently had an encounter with something interesting, and the result of that meeting is speckled on your aura. But I don’t know what it is. I thought it might be Vincintanious at first, but he freezes the edges of an aura. Yours is… splotched. Like something is growing on it. It looks kinda old too.”

“Old how?”

“Like, caused within the last week old. Well, anytime from the last week to now. But were it recently you would positively be drowning in tainted aura. So I must conclude that it’s old. It’s almost gone though, so don’t worry about it.” Jasrien gave Jeanette a look then, as if he had just revealed some universal secret. “See? Angel in the flesh.”

Jeanette made a disapproving noise. “How does any of this prove you’re an angel?”

Jasrien looked Jeanette square in the eyes, almost as if he was reading her. “Your prayer last night was for Tim and Peggy to get over the flu, both because you need them at the clinic and because- like I said earlier- you’re a good person. Now get out and drop a glass. Just kinda… let it fall.” Jeanette was distinctly uncomfortable by Jasrien’s knowledge of her prayers. She didn't vocalize them, she didn’t even kneel to pray. She quietly retrieved a glass and let it slip through her fingers. The cup bounced gently on the tile floor right before Jasrien. There wasn’t even a single crack.

“Well, shit,” Jeanette breathed.

“I have a, well, you can call it a ‘good luck aura,’” Jasrien explained. “Whenever possible, things just go right around me. It’s one of the angelic perks that aren’t lost when we fall from Grace. That and our ability to Know things. When we look at someone, we can understand their aura, know their name, and the important things about them that kinda… scream up from them. We can evaluate faith and truth too, which can be handy. Not so much any more, but back when the Boss had us testing humanity for its faith…” Jasrien gave a little shrug.

A pit opened up in Jeanette’s stomach. She felt like she was going to fall over, just a little. So she responded the way she always did in times of intense stress. Denial. “So you’re claiming you’re an angel based on the fact that you know my name, know I’m a single mother, you can see me aura-”

“Know,” Jasrien interrupted. “I can’t see it. I just understand it.”

“Whatever,” Jeanette waved off. “My aura, you guessed at what I prayed for last night, and the fact that the glass didn’t break. None of this proves anything.”

“It proves everything!”

“No.”Jeanette was tripping on her words in an effort to get them out before Jasrien could refute them. “You could have seen my name at the clinic. I don’t wear a wedding ring, but I obviously have a son. On the same shift sheet where you probably saw my name, you could see that Tim and Peggy were out sick. Of course I want my staff to get better. People can’t actually see auras, so that discounts that, no matter what you may perceive in it. And then a glass didn’t break, so that’s obviously an example of how you’re an angel. Except not really. You can’t just let something happen and claim divine credit for it.” Jeanette scoffed.

“You still don’t believe me?” Jasrien almost sounded hurt.

“You haven’t given me any true, confirmable evidence. Just a series of coincidences.”

“All those coincidences together? Isn’t that improbable?”

“But not impossible!” Jeanette was almost yelling. She was panicking, but she didn’t know why.

“You need to just trust me,” Jasrien said.

“So what, it’s a faith thing?” Jeanette didn’t keep the bite out of her voice.

“Yes.” If Jasrien was getting irritated he didn’t show it. Jeanette was ready for that steel she saw in the clinic earlier. That shift from jovial to dangerous. Jasrien never gave it. He just seemed tired.

“I have faith that you’re a crazy man I invited into my home after too much wine. Get out.”

Something seemed to shift in Jasrien. He sat up a little straighter, or something in his eyes changed. “Jeanette…”

Jeanette bent down, taking Jasrien by the shoulder and lifting him to his feet. “Out.”

“No.” Jasrien didn’t move an inch. “Not until I figure out what you interacted with that tainted your aura.”

“You said not to worry about it.”

“I said you should not worry about it,” Jasrien corrected. “I am free to worry about it as much as I want. Look, either you let me hang out, figure out what is lurking around here, and I can then leave, or I lurk around by myself and get into trouble.”

“That’s not a convincing argument,” Jeanette pointed out. “Get out of my home.” Behind them the kettle was whistling. Jeanette pulled out a plastic cup and poured the water. She roughly took the petals from Jasrien’s hand and threw them in the cup before pushing it at the supposed angel.

“Jeanette…” every time Jasrien said her name it got a little more plaintive.

“Out.” Finally Jasrien allowed himself to be pushed. Jeanette locked and deadbolted the door once Jasrien was out of the apartment. She relished the click. Jasrien looked at the door, contemplating the sign. He absently wondered where Jeanette’s son was. Jasrien supposed it was better that he wasn’t here; children frequently reacted strangely to an angel’s presence. The glamours and loss of status never seemed to fool them. This wouldn’t be the last time Jasrien and Jeanette met, the angel resolved as he moved down the stairs. Evil was here and around her, whether it manifested itself as Vincintanious or as something else. And Jasrien was excellent at defeating evil. The angel exited the apartment building with typical gusto, ready to explore the city. There was so much to do, and so much to see.


	7. City Lights, City Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jasrien rides a train, does some reading, and hits the town.

New Chora was a perfectly lovely city, Jasrien supposed. The city was just off the Mason-Dixon Line, not too far from the sea, but far enough inland to not be punished by the ocean’s weather patterns. The city was gently divided into informal zones: Government Block, The Flash District, The Greenery, The Bunks, The Show District, and University Center. Government Block made up the core of the city, with the primary bank, city hall, the courthouse, and other administration buildings all together on one square. The Flash District wrapped around the Government Block and bled into all the other districts; Flash was so named for all the flashing lights of the myriad of restaurants and shops that comprised it. The Show District was to the northeast, and while the areas that overlapped with the Flash and University Districts were lovely, full of theatres and music halls, the outer edges had gained a uncomfortable notoriety. University Center was the smallest and the northernmost, made up almost entirely by New Chora University. Student housing and apartments connected the University and Bunks Areas. The Bunks had started out as a loose collection of bunk houses and lodges, but had quickly grown into a large residential area with various neighborhoods and apartment buildings. It was here that Jeanette lived. Finally, to the south was The Greenery. This district was dominated by a massive park with only small buildings dotting the edges. An elevated train had one of its two major stations at The Greenery, the other major station being in University Center.

It was an unavoidable fact that Jasrien was, in effect, homeless, but the fact didn’t really hit the angel until about four hours after he had left Jeanette. After the good doctor had turned him out, Jasrien had spent almost the entire night wandering through the city. Jasrien had marvelled at the sheer amount of  _ stuff _ the mortals managed to pack into one city, all dedicated to the improvement of a single lifetime. It was astounding. He then realized that his mortal body needed to sleep, an activity he previously took for granted, and the angel unceremoniously fell asleep on a bench somewhere near NCU. When he awoke, Jasrien aimlessly made his way to the train station, where he was delighted to learn both what this metro everyone kept talking about was (it was just another word for train, apparently) and that New Chora’s metro was on an elevated track.

“It looks almost like flying,” he had said excitedly to a lady trying to buy a ticket from some automated machine. She didn’t seem to have the same enthusiasm for the metro as Jasrien did. Every time he would say something in a fit of excitement she would just shake her head slightly and make a point of looking away from Jasrien. The woman’s ticket machine did malfunction, however, spitting out two metrocards, and she was gracious enough to give Jasrien her spare.

“How lucky for you,” she said as she left. ‘Go ride that metro you seem to love so much. Please leave me alone.”

Jasrien became very aware of how overbearing he must have been. He wanted to apologize, he really did, but he had other matters to attend to. The metro ride wasn’t quite as exciting as Jasrien had hoped it would be, but the Greenery was every bit as lovely as he had expected. The only blight on the landscape was a construction site; heavy cranes were sifting through a building that had been demolished. Some signs proudly declared that the work was being carried out by Warren & Pierce Construction Corporation. As Jasrien gazed at the site and the surrounding park, he made a mental checklist of everything he needed to do. He had always found that lists helped make lots of tasks seem more manageable. Jasrien immediately needed to find lodging, and then figure out how to save New Chora from whatever danger it was in. Somewhere along the line, Jasrien would probably need money, if not for lodging then for food. Jasrien didn’t really want to involve mortals in his plans, seeing as how they tended to die rather easily, especially when monsters of angelic proportions were involved. So that discounted whatever witches lived in the outpost Jasrien could just barely spy from the train station. The Inertial Monks were also not an option for Jasrien, if only because he couldn’t stand their relentless devotions and fanaticism towards his every angelic word. If he wasn’t careful, and Jasrien wasn’t known for being careful, he could accidentally create an entirely new philosophy of monk thought with one careless sentence. That all presumed the monks accepted him as an angel in the first place though. Still, it wasn’t a process Jasrien wished to undergo. So Jasrien was on his own.

Jasrien idly wondered what Safriel and Kalagis were doing while he was gone. He hadn’t really allowed himself to think of his lover and friend in the first hours of his exile. But now that he was a comfortable day or so away, there was a freedom to daydream. Kalagis had probably put on a stiff upper lip and just marched through it all. Safriel was probably a wreck. Not anymore, Jasrien hoped, but certainly at first. Jasrien could almost see them now, lounging around some temple or library in Heaven, or making their way through some assignment. Sadness and annoyance bit him in equal measure as Jasrien wondered if another angel had been assigned to Kalagis’ team. Kalagis needed a triad to function. She was the clairvoyant warrior-leader, and she needed an high power sweet talker and an agile healer/shielder. Safriel and his axe hadn’t gone anywhere, Kalagis was still in charge, so logically someone had to step up and take Jasrien’s role. That’s just the way it was. Jasrien hoped whoever was chosen could do the job. Kalagis had a reputation as the most competent leader in Michael’s regiment, and she would hate to lose the title.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” The construction worker’s shout startled Jasrien. Lost in thought, he had wandered right up to the demolition site.

“What seems to be the problem?” Jasrien blinked at the worker, a burly man with a thick mustache and a midwest accent.

“You can’t be this close to the site,” the worker stated gruffly. “No one’s permitted any closer.”

Jasrien leaned his head so he could peer past the man. “You’ve been closer. And those people are closer. That woman right there’s taking a sledgehammer to the wall.”

“Do you think you’re funny? She…” The man pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s part of the crew. They’re all crew. We’re allowed to be closer, cause it’s our job. Not yours.”

“I just think it’s kinda funny how you say ‘no one’ all definitely, then break it yourself.”

“Are you calling me a hypocrite?”

“No, just funny. You’re all so funny to me, maybe it’s just cause I’m new. Anyways. Carry on, good citizen!” Jasrien raised on one heel and turned to walk away when the wind changed. Jasrien’s feet hit the pavement with a dull thud as something foreign hit him. It wasn’t a scent, nor a sight nor a sound. It was a feeling, assailing that sixth sense angels possessed that allowed them to  _ know  _ things. And Jasrien knew something was wrong. He had found his evil. “Oh,” Jasrien said lamely.

“Oh?” The construction worker frowned, then beckoned Jasrien off. “Go realize stuff somewhere else. We’re working here. Go test someone else’s patience, good citizen.”

“Mmhm.” Jasrien wasn’t really listening at that point. He had an objective. Jasrien made his way back to the metro system to grab a map. He needed a new game plan. One quick jog to the city hall, got Jasrien directions to the city records room. From there it was only a matter of finding the right documents.

Jasrien sat alone at a table, city manuscripts sprawling in front of him. Everything the city records had on the Kiger Building was right here, and he was going to milk every detail he could from the pages. It had been built in the late thirties, early forties, as relief work from the Depression. Originally a textile mill, it had been renovated in the late eighties to serve as lofts and apartments. Here, here, here, and here were the documents supporting that. The apartment building was fine until about half a decade ago, when people began to file structural complaints. The building seemed to creak and groan in an overly distressing fashion, tenants claimed. A few surveyors came out, and here was the proper paperwork, but nothing ever came of the consultations. Eventually the age of the building led to greater concerns, more surveyors were called, and as the prospective costs to fix the building rose city council members grew more and more anxious to just rid themselves of the building. So two months ago Warren & Pierce Construction Corporation were contracted to salvage what they could and bring the building down. They were going to put in a water lily pond on the plot. Jasrien flipped through the demolition analysis and report; nothing seemed to be amiss. Costs lined up, the same architect began and ended the project, the crew was more or less the same, and the times seemed to match correctly. The only thing that bugged Jasrien was a little handwritten note on the project summary: ‘See Document 4B-- Time Change.’ There was no Document 4B. There were documents 1A through 7A. There were documents 1B through 3B. And documents 1C and 2C. But there was no 4B, despite the penciled-in sentence indicating otherwise. The time table was covered in documents 4A and 5A. The B set of documents had to do with funding and the executive and administrative types of litigation. While it was definitely possible there was a 4B that had to do with timing, Jasrien was more inclined to believe that some silly human had just put down a B instead of an A in their note.

“Did you find what you’re looking for, dearie?” The woman in charge of the city records smiled down at Jasrien behind oversized glasses.

“I don’t really know,” Jasrien confessed. “Could we be missing a page? The project summary here suggests that there’s a document 4B. But there are only these twelve pages here. Is the note just wrong?”

“Most definitely,” the woman said with a nod. “Look here, the table of contents indicates only twelve pages in the project folder. People make mistakes, and it seems this one just sent you on a bit of a goose chase, bless your heart.”

Jasrine nodded. Every creature that lived was prone to errors, but it always seemed to him that humans made the most. “Well, thank you.” Jasrien left the building with a nod at the woman behind the desk. She had done her best. Jasrien still wanted to get back on that site and investigate, that hadn’t changed. Unfortunately, there would be people in and around the area for most of the day. In the meantime, Jasrien had an entire city to explore and learn. He could try to meet up with Jeanette again. Jasrien didn’t think she’d be especially happy to see him, but Jasrien could try. He knew where she worked and lived, so Jasrien figured that if he just sat outside one of those places all day, he would see her eventually. Jasrien winced as he fully thought out just how poorly that would go. Jeanette was off the table, but Jasrien did want someone to help introduce him to the city. He had seen fliers for escorts the night before, and while Jasrien knew from experience those ladies and gentlemen were offering a different type of excursion, few knew a city like someone who worked the streets. Jasrien set off at a brisk walk towards the Show District. He was in need of a brothel.

The angel found a suitable establishment quickly enough, a neon sign proudly promising beautiful girls, a beautiful orchestra, and a beautiful life. Jasrien wasn’t sure how a seedy nightclub on the edge of town could make good on the last promise, but he appreciated their efforts. The angel had barely taken a step into the building before he was greeted by the receptionist.

“A customer?” A young woman looked at Jasrien from across a counter, her eyes comically large behind her glasses. Her voice rose and fell with an accent, and her cigarette precariously wobbled on her pink painted lips with every word. “And such a beautiful one too. Are you here to forget your sorrows? It’d be a pleasure to work with you.”

“Sit down, shut up, you foolish old hen.” A man entered from behind a curtain covered doorway, eyes raking up and down Jasrien. “I feel that this one much prefers men.”

Jasrien tutted his tongue. “Ah. I have to decline both of you, I’m afraid. I’m here for information rather than pleasure. I need someone to show me around the city. Someone who doesn’t speak in rhymes, if possible?”

A pair of eyes flashed from behind the curtain. “I can do it! I just got off!” A young woman eagerly strutted out of the doorway, casually flipping off the receptionist as she snickered from her stool. “My name’s Candy.”

“Jasrien. Will I need to pay you?”

Candy gave the angel a wink, her hair bouncing with every move. “Nah, just buy me a bite to eat and we’ll call it even.” Candy waved off the receptionist’s call of “be safe!” as she exited the building. “So, do you have any idea what you want to see?”

“The city,” Jasrien said simply.

“Ooh, hot diggity.” Candy popped a bright pink piece of gum in her mouth and ferociously chewed for a moment. “Aight,” she mumbled around the gum, “let’s paint the town.” The next few hours were a blur. Candy showed Jasrien just about everything she could think of, pointing out thing after thing with moss colored fingernails. “And that’s the coffee shop that my ex girlfriend stabbed me in after she caught me sleeping with her ex boyfriend. God, I need to call up Lulu. It’s been ages. And I guess that kinda ends up our tour.” Candy leveled an accusatory glare at Jasrien. “You never bought me a morsel to eat. I’m going to starve; I’m a delicate figure!”

“Well, to be fair,” Jasrien began, “I don’t have any money.”

“None?”

“None. But.” Jasrien held up one finger. “I can grant you a boon. If you are in trouble, and need help, a true and genuine act of God, pray to the angel Safriel, and tell him that Jasrien said that he needs to haul feathered ass to help Candy however she needs.”

Candy blew a bubble, letting it pop before giving Jasrien another stare. “What the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout? Boon this, angel that. You’re crazy, but at least crazy’s cute. Gimme your hand.” Candy pulled a sharpie out of somewhere and wrote a series of numbers on Jasrien’s palm. “My number.” ‘Numbah,’ she pronounced it, popping the word. “I’ve had a lot of one night stands with crazy.” Candy turned without another word, offering a wave over her shoulder. Jasrien waved back, not that she would see. It was just a wave to the night.


	8. Strange Bedfellows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fallen angel strolls the streets of New Chora, waiting for love.

The water made a soothing noise as it ran against the porcelain of the sink. The bathroom seemed to have been carefully built with small aesthetic pleasures in mind-- every detail aimed to please. The builders had done a good job, because Vincintanious was thoroughly pleased. Glancing in the mirror, the fallen angel deftly adjusted his tie, making sure it hung just so. He had learned early on in his dealings with mortals that how he looked was just as important as what he was saying. Humans placed a lot of value on appearances. The fallen angel ran his hands under the faucet one last time before shaking off the droplets. A gentle push against the faucet stopped the stream. Ensuring that his cufflinks were still in place and no stray threads marred his charcoal suit, Vincintanious confidently strode out of the bathroom. The city council meeting was well underway, but Vincintanious wasn’t here to entertain a handful men and women at a meeting. He had business to attend to. The fallen angel quickly checked his cell phone, just to see if there were any notifications. Any at all. Seeing none, Vincintanious decided to make his entrance. The doors to the council chamber opened without a sound, the conversation dying as everyone turned to look at the intruder.

“Ah, Mr. DeAngelis. I am so pleased you could make it.” Percival stood to shake the fallen angel’s hand, his mouth drawing into a tight line when Vincintanious refused him. “You got the folder, I assume? Briefing you on today’s issues?”

“No. I need to speak with you privately, Mr. Equitan.”

Percival blinked. “Surely, it can wait? The city council is in session. We are trying to resolve a school zoning issue, very important stuff.”

“Surely, it cannot.” Vincintanious hated Percival. He was every bad thing a mortal could be, all rolled into one: greedy, arrogant, sickly, and hideous. Every second spent with him felt like years.

Percival made a show of removing himself from the council chambers, stalking out of the room with Vincintanious. The moment the door shut behind them, Percy grit his teeth and pulled out a cigarette. “What is it then?”

“WPCC is almost done with the demolition. The excavation for the pond will begin shortly.”

“You didn’t need to interrupt the meeting to tell me this.”

“Someone pulled the files on the Kiger Building yesterday evening.”

Percival let out a long breath, smoke filtering out through his nose. He didn’t even bother trying to hide his concern. “You made those edits to the files though?”

Vincintanious rolled his eyes. “Of course. Your corruption can stay hidden for another day.”

“I am not corrupt,” Percival hissed. “I am a businessman who seizes upon opportunity.”

“You’re the worst kind of corrupt,” Vincintanious said. “Because you think you’re right.”

“Do we know who pulled the files? Can we track him or her down?”

“I don’t know who they are,” Vincintanious lied. “And even if I did, the city’s too big for me

to find them. They’re lost to us, unless they do something like this again. And now we’re watching.”

Percival gave a dissatisfied grunt, then ground out his cigarette with his heel. “If you can find them, keep an eye on them. I really don’t want anything messing up my venture. I’ve sunk a lot into there, Mr. DeAngelis! I have a considerable interest in making sure that project goes right.”

“I’m sure. I’ve nothing else to tell you, so good day to you.” Vincintanious turned on his heel and left without another word. It felt good to lie to Percival. Lying made Vincintanious feel strong, like he was in control. It also made Jasrien feel like Vincintanious’ own little secret. He knew where the angel was, of course. Vincintanious had been stalking Jasrien from the moment the nature angel had, quite literally, hit the ground. Vincintanious knew all about Jeanette Pearson and her medical practice. Vincintanious had found her son, knew where he went to school, where he hung out. Vincintanious even had an inkling or two about where the estranged Mr. Pearson might be found, should the need to collect him ever arise. There weren’t any specific plans in mind currently, now was the lean time of waiting for the next order. But Vincintanious liked to have his things aligned just so, so that when it came time to start pushing dominoes the whole series would fall without issue. It was just so much more efficient. Vincintanious pushed open city hall’s doors, stepping onto the dazzlingly lit streets. The perpetual snare of traffic encircled the Government Block, and Vincintanious spared a glance to his phone as he waited for the crosswalk light to change. No texts. No nothing. Vincintanious didn’t know what he was waiting for, what he was expecting. Jasrien wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, nor was Vincintanious. He didn’t even have any more errands to run.

Taking the Bogen-Sterne had almost been fun. Delivering it had been, admittedly, less fun, if only because Vincintanious had been forced to do that part alone. Over the years and years and years fused with Simocian, Vincintanious had begun to take his presence for granted. Not having his love here now felt as if Vincintanious had lost an arm, or a wing-- if he still had true wings to lose. Vincintanous shivered, trying to mentally overpower the goosebumps dotting his arms. Hell had been one endless nightmare. Even now, Vincintainous still wasn’t completely sure how he had escaped. The fallen angel had been chained to a pillar, with Simocian screaming under his skin as the two fell through an endless abyss of fire and misery. Then the fall had stopped. The pillar reconnected with the ground, and Vincintanious was able to rest. Before the fallen angel could question anything, before he could even think, he had been transported out of Hell entirely to a world of greys. Fog had hung heavily on an endless film of water; Vincintanious had no idea how long he spent in that realm. Then a voice spoke to him, told him what was happening. Things that had been planned and things that were to come. The voice didn’t tell the fallen angel everything, Vincintanious had no doubt, but it had given him a purpose once again. Vincintanious and Simocian had been directed to Avalrix, then to the mortal planes to deposit the Bogen-Sterne at a dead-drop for a collaborator to pick it up. Vincintanious didn’t know who the collaborator was, not that he particularly cared, though he definitely had his suspicions. The box was out of his hands. Now Vincintanious was stuck in some mortal has-been city waiting to finally be done with it all-- one way or another.

The crosswalk finally changed, and Vincintanious moved with the crowd down the street. Vincintanious really wanted to go home. He didn’t particularly know where home was anymore, but he longed to escape to a place where he felt secure. Somewhere beyond conflict and fire, with Simocian by his side. That’s all he really wanted. Vincintanious would serve his temporary masters as long as he had to, and then he would flee with Simocian to the edge of creation. It wouldn’t even be the first time. Unfortunately, it looked as if Vincintanious’ time here on Earth would be extended by the mortal conflict between the Inertial Monks and the Adalians. No, witches, they called themselves now. That was part of those Accords they all had to sign.

“Sir, do you have a moment to talk about the environment?” A woman looked at Vincintanious hopefully, a pamphlet held in her outstretched hand. She was standing on the street corner, an obscene number of identical pamphlets stretching her bag. The woman had picked her location well, just off Government Block, but the fallen angel couldn’t overcome his apathy.

“No.” Vincintanious kept walking, not even sparing a glance at the woman. Human environmental damage was supposedly a hotly debated topic in Heaven these days. Angels argued day and night if the humans deserved to stay on their current path of destruction, or if it was Heaven’s responsibility to deliver humanity from the apocalypse of its own making. Vincintanious personally thought that humans had made their bed, and now it was time to bake in it. Glodria had always been so peculiar about free choice; Vincintanious absently wondered what she made of the issue. Vertran would want to help the humans, if only because it was his domain that was threatened. Though, for all his bluster and risk analysis, Vertran probably had the biggest heart of all of Vincintanious’ siblings. Biggest heart save for perhaps Atasha, but she was notoriously hard to read. Not even Vertran could map her moods and whims. Thinking further, perhaps Vincintanious should try to contact his sister, see if the two of them could have a chat. See if she would work with him. She would definitely be interested in this enterprise of his, but she might also take up arms against her brother’s cohort. That wouldn’t be the worst setback imaginable, but it would definitely be inconvenient. But really, what else was family? From the depths of his pocket, Vincintanious felt his phone vibrate. His eyes seemed to devour the words on the screen as he read the texts. For all his groaning about being at another’s whims, it felt good to have a purpose.

[Demigod]  _ There’s a witch, male, near you that needs to be temporarily handled. Take him to the Kiger Building and allow him to conduct an experiment. Then smuggle him back out of the city. He will respond to the codename Luther. _

[Vince] _ As you say. Are all these codenames really necessary? _

[Demigod]  _ If they were frivolous before, rumor has it that the Inertial Monks have contacted a fae for help. Codenames are a necessity now. _

[Vince] _ A fae? They won’t help either side unless there is a clear gain. _

[Demigod]  _ I don’t proclaim to know how fae make decisions. We can only react. Glory to the morning. _

[Vince]  _ Glory be. _

Vincintanious carefully deleted all the messages just as he always did. No need to make it easy for anyone to stumble across plans, should his phone ever get lost. A location beeped on his phone, a small coffee shop not too far from where the fallen angel of winter currently was. Frowning, Vincintanious headed towards the shop. A fae could be troublesome. Their magics were hideously complex, hinging on wordplay, arcane rules, names and Names. If it was one particular fae, then Vincintanious’ associates could be in particular trouble. Saint Icara was near-legendary among the fae for her power and uncanny charm. But there was no point in worrying about storms when Vincintanious wasn’t even in the air. Upon arriving at the coffee shop, the man who must be Luther stuck out like a sore thumb. Greasy strings of hair sat amidst professionally styled coifs and neatly maintained bangs. Luther’s eyes moved too much, taking in everyone’s face. Drumming against the table, Vincintanious noticed how ragged the man’s fingernails were; one fingernail was missing entirely.

“Are you Luther?”

The man gave a curt nod. “Who sent you?”

“Demigod.” 

The man’s expression changed. “Not Coyote?”

“No. I have never spoken with a Coyote.”

Luther seemed to deflate. “Then she must be dead.”

“Perhaps.” Vincintanious checked his watch, then his phone. It was too soon to expect any new texts, but hope sprung eternal. “I am to take you to the Kiger Building?”

“Oh, yes. Yes.” The two, the man and the angel, left the cafe without any other words. The two stayed silent as they trudged across the city, to the demolition site of the Kiger Building. Luther shivered as he entered the site; Vincintanious kept his shoulders square and his face passive. The demolition team nodded to them as they made their way to the center of the site, where the building had first collapsed. The construction crew had been picking through the wreckage like vultures for weeks now, leaving only half walls to give the vaguest indication of where a towering building had once been.

“Nasty work here,” Vincintanious commented.

“Quite. Torn apart inside out.” Luther placed his palm flat to the earth, closing his eyes as he hummed. A rune furrowed in the ground, fading as soon as the witch removed his hand. “Well.”

“Well?”

“We… may have a problem.”

“Oh?” Vincintanious told himself he didn’t care. He really tried not to care. But this, whatever was living in the witch’s voice and giving it that edge of concern, sounded like it could be fun.

“Lead and gold.”

Vincintanous’ face pulled into a half-frown at the witch’s word. “Are they foolish?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think...” Luther shook his head and began to walk westward., out of the city. Vincintanious walked with him, every step of the way, until the witch codenamed Luther was out of New Chora.


	9. Calendar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A normal day for Jeanette, with a brief interlude.

Jeanette’s alarm clock went off at six in the morning. It did this every day except Sunday, yet Jeanette always gave it the same look of betrayal, as if it was the very first time that her rest was disturbed by its electronic screech. She slapped her alarm clock with the same prejudice and vigor each and every day, because sometimes the only thing that can make you feel better is hitting a machine. Then she rolled out of bed and got to work getting ready for work.

First, the kettle. It was completely filled and put on the heat, Jeanette working around it as the water boiled. The Pearsons had a system that was followed every morning, and it was beautiful in its efficiency. The coffee press was produced, coffee was ground, and the press was set aside until the water was ready. Moving on to fruits, Jeanette methodically peeled and sliced a banana, then selected, washed, and dried a handful of blueberries. Oats and some cinnamon were retrieved from the pantry as the kettle finally began to sing. First, the water was poured in the coffee press; Jeanette needed to give her coffee a lot of time to get as dark as she liked it. The oats and spice were then combined with some of the boiling water before being generously topped off with the fruit, resulting in an effective, if a touch bland, breakfast of oatmeal. Swiping open her tablet, Jeanette browsed the morning news as she mindlessly ate her meal. Once the bowl was empty, and she was satisfied that the world was continuing as normal, Jeanette went to shower. As she walked down the hall the usual ringing was dimly chiming from her son’s room, prompting Jeanette to, as usual, pound on her son’s door.

“Davie! I can hear your alarm clock ringing! Get up!” Satisfied that her message got across, Jeanette systematically showered, brushed her teeth, combed out her hair, got dressed, and pulled her hair back. Walking back into the kitchen, Jeanette was pleased-- though not surprised-- to see that Davie was out of bed, resentfully eating a piece of toast.

“Just so you know, I’m not actually hungry. I’m just eating breakfast ‘cause you make me.”

Jeanette shrugged. “That’s fine. So long as you have something on your stomach. Anything exciting at school today?”

“We’re finishing  _ Paradise Lost _ in English this week, and it sucks.” Davie bitterly took another bite of toast. “And Bio is consistently terrible. We’re learning about the Native American genocides in History, except Becky says that the word makes her uncomfortable, so we’re calling it the “Native American relocation and population devastation.” Davie made a face.

“But math is going well?” Jeanette was scrounging in the cabinets, pushing various mugs aside as she hunted for something.

“Your travel mug is in the dishwasher,” Davie supplied. He smiled as his mother offered a word of thanks. “And math is just geometry, Mom. I barely have to be awake.”

Jeanette poured herself a deep mug of coffee before offering the press to her son. He gladly took it, mixing his with a little milk from the refrigerator. “Just keep your grades up,” Jeanette said. “And do try to learn something. That means French class too.”

“Oui,” Davie said, taking a swig of coffee. He grimaced, reaching for the sugar.

“Weak,” Jeanette teased, making sure her bag was ready. “Make sure to brush your teeth.”

“I know, Mom. I’m not like, six.”

“I have to remind you. It’s in the parent handbook.”

“That doesn’t sound real.”

“Well, I guess you’ll find out when you’re a parent.” Jeanette gave one last look around the apartment, one hand on the doorknob. There was always some part of her, each and every day, that called out to her to stay. To take off her coat, to let her hair down, and crawl back into bed for an hour or two more. To send an email to Davie’s school excusing him for the day and take him out to see a movie. The one about the figure skater looked intriguing. But as much as the proverbial devil on her shoulder begged Jeanette to stay home, the angel on her shoulder told her to go on, lives were waiting. And each day, Jeanette heeded the angel. “Have a good day at school; I’ll see you when I get home.” Jeanette blew a kiss to her son before walking out to the door, phase one of her day officially done.

Jeanette liked to walk to her clinic; she felt that the time spent watching the city waking up helped remind her why she chose to be a doctor. There was something vibrant about New Chora at dawn, something in the way the city seemed to sleepily groan as it prepared itself for another day. The murmurs of families as they ate their breakfast, people breaking away from late night trysts, the gentle hum of car engines on the streets and the whine of the metro above. It was beautiful.

The clinic doors opened with the same drag of metal on carpet that Jeanette still couldn’t force herself to love. The door hadn’t always been crooked in the frame, and when it had first been damaged-- courtesy of a  _ very _ drunk individual-- Jeanette hadn’t possessed the funds to fix it. And it had always annoyed her to no end, the way the door growled along the floor, but Jeanette continued to insist that she could one day learn to not hate the drag, the door, and that god awful noise. But still. It was the sound that meant the second part of her day was officially underway.

“Good morning Jeanette!” Pierre was behind the desk, lifting his mug to salute the good doctor. “We’re already popping big!”

“That’s good, right?” Pierre was, for lack of a better word, young. Worse than that, Jeanette was vaguely aware that he was what the kids would call ‘cool,’ which meant nothing to Jeanette except that sometimes he said words that made no sense in context. Still, he was fluent in French, had a perfect memory, and could type eighty words per minute. Which meant Jeanette could weather some slang, so long as he opened up every morning on time.

“Very good, if people needing medical attention is good!” Pierre slid a clipboard across the desk to Jeanette. “We’ve got a couple, teens, in room two needing some STI testing. Standard stuff. One guy’s here with a fork in his hand, but Pam’s taking care of that in room five. We have a Persephone in room one; she’s resting right now. Got in last night, used the key code. She has a friend in there too, but she fell asleep when I got in. Seems like she stayed up all night with her.”

“Poor girl,” Jeanette sighed. “Repeat?” Persephones were the clinic’s name for women who were in what could politely be called ‘bad situations.’ Once officially seen by Jeanette or Pam, the women were given a key code to the clinic and, should they ever need a place to go, they could spend the night in one of the rooms. It was all very unofficial for legal reasons, and kept mostly secret for the sake of the Persephones, but it was probably the feature of her clinic that Jeanette was proudest of.

“I don’t know,” Pierre admitted. “She came in late, and her friend fell asleep as soon as she saw me. You can talk to her when she wakes up.” Jeanette nodded, walking towards the room. Jeanette would let the women sleep if they needed it, but she also needed to get some details from them if they were awake. Jeanette eased the door open, immediately noticing but failing to recognize the dark haired woman who was slumped in the chair, head leaning against the wall. The woman on the examination table though, Jeanette knew at once.

“Candace, how do you keep ending up here?”

For a moment there was no sound, just the two women locking eyes. Then there was a sharp pop of bubble gum and a wry look from the sitting woman. “Doc, there’s only two people who call me Candace, so unless you’re my mama or Jesus Christ himself, you can call me Candy.” Candy ran a finger along an eye, gently wiping away a clump of mascara before blowing another bubble. Her normally bouncy golden curls were hanging listless and dull around her head, and Jeanette noticed she wasn’t wearing any lipstick. With another pop Candy sighed, leaning her head back against the wall.

“Candy.” Jeanette closed the door. “What happened?”

Candy smiled. She shouldn’t have, because there was no joy behind it. But sometimes people smiled without joy for the same reasons they stayed silent when offended; there was just nothing else to do. “Do you ever just get hit with, like. You know how there’s seven bajillion people in the world or whatever, right? And you’re just one person. So you know you’re nothing super special, to be one in a ton. And I’ve never tried to be someone super super special. I just want to be Candy. I like bright colors and I like meeting people and I really, really love kitties. But sometimes we just want to feel like we matter. And I know I matter to some people. Em relies on me to come to work, so I matter to them. And I matter to my nephew because I always remember what his favorite cereal is when he comes to visit, and his parents don’t let him have it at home ‘cause it’s  _ super _ junky. But in the grand scheme of things we don’t matter, you and me, Doc. Well, that’s not even quite true, ‘cause you’re out here saving lives and shit like that. Helping me. Anyways, I met someone the other night, and he was just someone you look at and you  _ know _ that he matters. He big time matters. And it kills you because you know that you’ll never have that glow; no one will ever look at you like you’re the sun. But last night someone made me feel like a little bit of a star. And it was lovely. Until it wasn’t. He hit me once or twice, and that was bad but nothing extraordinary. But then this man in a suit came in and just-” Candy’s voice broke, and she took a shuddering breath. Jeanette’s hand found her knee, offering some form of reassurance. “The man in a suit had a knife, this wicked black curved thing. And he just gutted the creep. He just left him to bleed out in the little alley I had been dragged to. And he walked me out of there. Told me I smelled good. ‘Like flowers,’ he said. So I thanked him, because what else was there to do? And I kept my composure all very British until I stepped out and called Lulu here to pick me up. She was pissed, but she came. And here we are.”

Jeanette was awed and sickened, and there were no better words to describe it. No amount of counseling lessons truly prepared a person for a moment like this, when everything was just so real, so fast. “He just let you go?”

“Yeah.” Tears were falling down Candy’s face. Jeanette didn’t know when they had started.

“Have you reported the murder to the police?” A look from Candy answered that question for Jeanette pretty plainly.

“Alright then,” Jeanette said. “Are you harmed?”

“Just a bruise or two.”

“Alright, I’m going to do a quick physical before sending you off. You know you can’t stay here.” Candy was quiet. “Candy.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But, like. How do we, I, go on from this? I’ve seen some wild stuff, but this was…”

“I don’t know, “ Jeanette admitted. “We just do.”

The rest of the day went pretty quickly for Jeanette. That wasn’t unusual; on days with big events or especially troublesome cases, the rest of the day usually melted away quickly. Soon Jeanette was punching the clock at 6:05, leaving the clinic in Pam’s capable hands for the rest of operating hours.

“Am I good to go?” Jeanette always asked this question at least four times, never wanting to leave the clinic when she was still needed.

“Go, go,” Pam always urged. “The only thing left is a letter from Percival’s firm, but you can deal with that in the morning. Jeanette made a face at the businessman’s name, but allowed herself to be shephered out the door.

If Jeanette’s walk to work let her see the city waking up, her walk home from work let her see the city in transition. Families were sitting down for dinner, teenagers were making plans for the night, dogs were being walked and clubs were prepping for the night. Grabbing a cluster of letters from her mailbox in her apartment building’s foyer, Jeanette climbed the stairs before shouldering open her door. Davie, as usual, was sprawled on the couch finishing up math homework. He typically got home around four, did homework for the classes he didn’t hate, then procrastinated for an hour or so before finally finishing his math homework, his most reviled subject.

“Hey, mom!” Davie slowly removed himself from the pile of binders and paper covering the couch as he pulled Jeanette into a half hug as she removed her shoes. “I started boiling some water, cause I thought pasta would be good tonight.”

“That sounds great,” Jeanette said, taking stock of her kitchen. Pasta sauce sat on the counter next to an empty box of spaghetti. A pot boiled away on the stove, hopefully full of the noodles not present in their box. “How was your day at school?”

“It was alright,” Davie said. “Chad’s being a dic- I mean, um. He’s still a jerk.”

“More so than usual?”

“No, normal levels of Chad-jerkiness. Other than that, math is still awful. In related news, the sun rises in the morning. And we’re starting  _ Les Mis _ in English next week. So that’s lit.”

“Lit?”

“Good, mom. Lit means good. We’re reading some lit literature.”

“Teenagers exhaust me,” Jeanette teased, poking her son’s shoulder. “You all with your made up words.”

“Whatever. How was work?”

“It was fine,” Jeanette said easily. It was her usual response, just as Davie always told her that school was ‘alright.’ Both knew that some days were worse than others, but some things didn’t need to be shared. Candy’s visit was one of those things.

“Did I get any mail? Also, remember my friend Charlie from dance?”

“I haven’t checked the mail yet, and yes, I remember Charlie. You thought he was a girl.”

“Charlie uses ‘they,’ mom, so there’s that. And yeah, I was super super wrong about that. But they’re super cool, and I was wondering if they could come over some time and spend the night? I mentioned it to them and they seemed super cool about it, they just needed their mom to confirm it with you.”

“I mean, I guess that’s fine. What can you tell me about Charlie?”

“They’re super quiet. Even when they talk, it’s like they’re afraid you’ll hear them. And that’s super weird, but they’re super funny so that makes up for it. Um, they have kinda longish black hair and freckles, and I’ve never seen them wear anything but a hoodie and jeans. They’re really good at dance, and they’re…”

“They’re what?” Davie had gone uncomfortably silent. “Davie?”

“They have a… thingy.” He waved to the back of his neck.

“Oh." Jeanette drummed her fingers on the table, suddenly embarrassed by her silence. "I didn’t know you knew any… people like that.”

“I didn’t know originally.” Davie quickly waved his hands in the air, realizing what he had said. “Not that I wouldn’t have made friends with them if I knew! I just didn’t know!”

“Well, if you want to invite them over, I’ll just need to confirm it with their mom.”

“Alright, thanks.” Davie slouched, almost deflating in some unknown form of shame. “Was there any mail?”

Jeanette hummed as she flipped through the stack of letters, clicking her tongue as she sat aside one envelope. “Nothing for you, but it seems that I’ve been invited to the upcoming mayor’s gala.” With a rip of her finger Jeanette extracted the letter, reading it in full. “The night's theme is human compassion and humanitarian work, and I’m going to be recognized.”

“Mom, that’s so cool! You’re gonna be like, famous!”

Jeanette smiled, her mind briefly flashing back to her earlier conversation. “I guess. It’ll be fun, and I’ll get to dress up.”

“Will I get to go with you?”

“Maybe,” Jeanette said, meandering back into the kitchen and beginning to finish up dinner. “It depends if I get a ticket for you and if you do all your schoolwork well up until then.”

“I’m gonna do awesome then,” Davie declared, “because I want to go partying with the fancy people!” Jeanette laughed, and kept laughing to herself as the two ate dinner. She was giggling as the dishes were washed and put away, and she chuckled as Davie waved goodnight. Sitting alone at the table though, Jeanette wasn’t laughing quite so much. She knew a pile of paperwork awaited her, and she knew that Percival’s letter sat heavily upon her desk at the clinic. Quietly filing away some documents, Jeanette allowed herself to wonder what tomorrow would bring. If every day would just be like this one until something stopped the days from coming. But, listening to Davie laugh at something he saw on his phone while he was supposed to be asleep, Jeanette supposed that every day being like this one wouldn’t be too bad.


	10. Murmuring Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kalagis and Safriel begin to return to normal, and Michael shares information and change.

Immediately after Jasrien fell, Kalagis had likened Safriel to a field of dying flowers. It had been an appropriate comparison, because Safriel had completely withered without his beloved. Everything that had been vibrant and strong had buckled in grief, and Kalagis had worried for a brief period that something fundamental in Safriel had been broken. Kalagis was a valkyrie, a harbinger of war, an angelic armsman in Michael’s infantry. Kalagis could see through time and space, yet something about Safriel had made him unseeable, unreachable. Safriel wasn’t quite like Kalagis or Jasrien; he wasn’t an angel with a purpose. He wasn’t made for war or for the cultivation of flowers; Safriel was created by something more for something bigger. Safriel was what could be called a classical angel, one who appeared to the needy and provided salvation. He could play any instrument, sing any note, go anywhere, soothe any heart, and he had always been so assured, so calm. Seeing Safriel break down was like watching a mountain collapse in on itself. Like watching an entire field of flowers die together, quickly enough that it was unstoppable but slow enough that it hurt.

Kalagis hadn’t allowed herself to break down. Not when Safriel was compromised like this. But Safriel was rebuilding. He was putting himself back together feather by feather, wing by wing. And now Kalagis truly had time to deal with her own fallout. Kalagis was discomforted, though not altogether surprised, by the fact that she didn’t have a lot of emotion over the situation. Kalagis didn’t allow a lot of emotion to take root in her heart; she couldn’t afford to love and then lose. Kalagis loved with her mind, and in her mind Jasrien was still vibrant. He was remembered, and for Kalagis that was enough. If she never saw him again she would be a little sad, but Kalagis knew that she would never feel the same earth shattering emotion that Safriel did. Because Safriel loved with his heart, with his mind, and with every fiber of his being. It didn’t make him weak, not at all. It just made him softer, more malleable. It was who he was. So was the Will of God.

“Kalagis.” Safriel’s voice was becoming musical again, less rough. If the dawning sun made a sound, it would pale in comparison to Safriel’s voice. There was nothing in God’s Creation to match his laugh. And both his voice and laugh were returning, slowly but surely. Kalagis wondered how Jasrien heard it, if the already beautiful voice became somehow more so when heard by the angel of nature. It wouldn’t surprise her. “Kalagis, are you not needed by Michael soon?”

“Soon,” Kalagis admitted, “but not now.” The two angels were sprawled under Jasrien’s tree, the last living thing in the angel’s domain. Kalagis slowly leafed through a book that a mortal had dreamed once but never wrote, Safriel devouring the hypothetical sequel.

“You cannot avoid it,” Safriel chided, “whatever it is that you are trying to avoid.”

“Who said I was attempting to avoid anything?”

“You get this look about you,” Safriel admitted. “Something about the tilt of your head and the way you look at things. You are definitely avoiding something.”

Kalagis shut her book. “Michael is putting us back on assignment today.”

Safriel frowned. “We are not a complete triad.” Kalagis stayed silent. “Oh.”

“That is what I am avoiding.”

“I would like to run from this too, but you know that we cannot.”

Kalagis frowned, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. She wanted to Look at Michael, see if he was busy right now. But the Archangel would feel if she tried to spy on him, Kalagis had no doubt. “It feels too soon. It has only been a handful of mortal months.”

“There are humans who would say that was ages.”

“We are not human.”

“Jasrien is. He would want us to keep moving.”

Kalagis laughed. “No he would not. He would sulk for ages that we even considered replacing him.”

Now it was Safriel’s turn to laugh. “True. It would be a half-sulk, more for attention than anything, but you are right.” Safriel stopped laughing, and though light remained on his face Kalagis could sense the shift. “We are not replacing him though. We are accepting a new member into out triad so that we may function as a task force, but we are not replacing Jasrien. He is irreplaceable.”

“I know.” Kalagis stood, stretching her arms and wings. She frowned as the tips dragged against the ground, rolling her shoulders and trying to bring her wings back up. Safriel stood too, flaring out his own wings as he popped his neck. “This is not going to be fun,” Kalagis said, monotone.

“It might be.”

“I wish Michael would just tell us who our new teammate is. It is not as if we do not know every angel already.”

“He has to make his fun somehow. If he just told us everything all at once, what would he do with himself?”

“Hopefully find some way to be more efficient,” Kalagis huffed. With a flap of her wings she was in the air, steering herself towards Michael’s war room. Kalagis heard Safriel taking off behind her, obviously wanting to meet his new teammate at the same time as Kalagis. It was near silent as they flew, the only sounds to be heard were the beating of their wings and the distant cries of the Seraphim, singing holy praise from their positions around the Heavensphere. The Seraphim’s song was in a language even older than the Lexvoca, the ancient language of God and angels, unknowable to any beings but the Archangels and God. No one was quite sure how the Seraphim learned the song, but they had been singing it since their creation. Some thought that Raphael had taken a Seraph aside and taught them the music, teaching them the timbres and pitches and swells of exaltation. Others suspected that the Seraphim were created knowing the language, and it was as innate to them as the holy fire burning along their six wings. In the end it didn’t matter-- they knew the song and sang the song and would only cease their praises at The End.

Michael’s war temple always seemed to be cloaked in twilight, and Kalagis was never sure if Michael liked it that way. The ambient light flattered the structure; long shadows crossed the courtyard in a lattice of dark and light. The temple was built a little unusually, having a distinct roof and actually submerging itself in the landmass upon which it was built. Normally angels favored open air architecture to allow easy flight, but the only entrances and exits to Michael’s domain were the front door or the large balcony off the war room. It made sense, defensively, though it had been ages since any Heavenly defenses were needed. Regardless, Kalagis and Safriel gently landed in the courtyard, nodding to the two sentinels who stood before the temple’s door. The sentinels did not return the gesture.

Kalagis and Safriel entered the war room and stood at attention, neither taking their eyes off of Michael, who was observing something move along his table. The Archangel straightened and passed something to his attendant before turning to the standing angels. Michael looked… tired. There was no other way to say it. Circles hung heavy under his eyes, and his dark hair seemed unkempt. The edges of his body seemed to blur slightly, the blur fading into a glow at random intervals before snapping back to sharp lines.

“General,” Kalagis said.

“Lieutenant,” Michael answered.

“Archangel,” Safriel said with a bow.

“Angel.” Michael accepted the bow with a quick glance. “You two are here for your new teammate?”

“Yes,” both angels affirmed at once.

Michael grunted, turning back to his table. He moved a marker across the table with one finger before toppling it, letting his hand come to rest atop his rapier. “He should be here shortly.”

“So it is a he?” Kalagis was answered by another grunt.

“Michael, what is wrong?” Safriel extended a hand to lay upon the Archangel before reconsidering. Kalagis held her breath, watching her superior’s response. It had been obvious that Michael was distressed, and there was no way Michael didn’t know that he was slipping. But for Safriel to actually address it was bold. Incredibly so.

“I am fine.”

“No, you are not.” Safriel’s warm eyes met Michael’s hardened ones. Surprisingly, Michael broke first. Kalagis was shocked, her confusion and concern growing with the Archangel’s words.

“The portals I sent you to investigate. There have been one or two more instances of off-planar activity like that since I sent you three, but then all activity abruptly stopped. We can no longer sense any movements across planes, in fact. The Prince sent an envoy a little while ago to see if we knew more than he did, for it seems that his information has gone dark too. Which is concerning, because it was the opinion of the Archangels that the activity was the Morningstar’s doing.”

Safriel had the look of a person that had asked for a little more information than he could handle. “That does sound troubling. Could the prince be playing us?”

“Perhaps. It is certainly uncharacteristic of Morningstar to admit any weakness of his own. But that may just indicate the magnitude of this problem. I am going to send an envoy from us to Morningstar’s domain to see if we can consolidate any information before going to one of the Finn.”

“Do you think the Finn have anything to do with this?”

“I do not know,” Michael said, hand jerking back as he tried to massage a temple that was not physically defined. “I am so preoccupied with potentials and hypotheticals I am having trouble on focusing on anything else, but even with all that focus I am yielding no answers. Wrangling all of these angels and demons is demanding in every way, and I am frustrated, to say the least.”

“I am sorry, General.”

“It is nothing in eternity,” Michael tutted. “Just a moment of many. Claire should be back soon with Dezique.”

“Dezique is our new teammate?” Kalagis’ voice was very neutrally a question, though Safriel could hear the accusation bubbling right below the surface.

“Oh, Yes. Is that a problem?” Michael matched Kalagis’ accusation with a forceful affirmation just as concealed within the pacing of his sentence.

“No, General. I am just curious how you paired us together. Dezique is a well regarded angel, but his temperament may be a little, oh, how shall I say this. I worry there will be friction.  He is boisterous at his best and sanctimonious at his worst.”

“Dezique was suggested by Ntazil to join with you two, and I have faith in all of you.” Michael fell silent for a moment before raising his hand in greeting. Claire filed into the room followed closely by Dezique. The angel’s hair was windblown, and a smile pushed up the freckles that dotted along his nose and cheeks. His cream colored wings were nowhere to be seen, something that shouldn’t have irked Kalagis but did anyways.

“Kalagis.” Dezique swept into a low bow, his hair nearly dragging the floor as he went down. “It is an honor to serve with you in the name of Heaven and Holy God. Let us work together in perfect tandem to bring peace and prosperity to all of Creation, ushering in new eras of light to all that lives and breathes.”

“Yes, let us do that that.” Kalagis awkwardly patted Dezique’s head, shooting Safriel a look as Dezique stayed in his bow for an increasingly awkward amount of time. “Um, rise.”

“Of course, Lieutenant. What are our first orders?”

“I do not actually know,” Kalagis confessed, “but I am sure that there will be something for us soon. Michael, are there not relief missions to be done on the Earthly Plane?”

“The mortals always need relief,” Michael grumbled, “but that will not be your first assignment. You three are to go somewhere beyond time and spend a minimum of nine years together bonding and learning each other’s movements. Then, you three are to go to the Earthly Plane and track down Simocian. I am getting reports that he has re-emerged after his little fireworks display atop Avalrix.”

“So soon? It has only been a few months? How could he have possibly reformed so quickly?”

“You should ask him that as you escort him back to Hell,” Michael said offhandedly. The Archangel had turned away from the trio, and was now pouring over something Claire had handed him. Kalagis, knowing this to be a dismissal, lead her team out of the temple and to the open air.

“I have but two questions at this moment,” Dezique said. “Who is Simocian, and who was that other angel with Michael, Claire? I always see her with him, but I do not actually know who she is.”

Safriel and Kalagis shared the first of what would be countless exasperated looks due to Dezique. “You are a young angel,” Safriel began, “so you are permitted for not knowing Claire; she is one of the oldest angels. She is Brigadier General, Michael’s right hand, and the Keyholder.”

Dezique nodded even though he understood none of what Safriel said because he knew that it was the polite thing to do. “And Simocian?”

“Simocian is a chaos demon who used to be an angel. We do not talk of him often, which must be why you do not know his name.”

“Oh.” Dezique looked at the ground, then back to Kalagis and Safriel. “I am sorry that I am not the angel of nature Jasrien. I know that I am inadequate in his shadow, that I am young, and that you miss him. I feel I should say that now before we boil over later.” Kalagis and Safriel said nothing, letting the other angel speak. “I am going to do my best, if only because that is all I know to do. For God, may we keep shoes on our feet.”

Safriel smiled then. It wasn’t his radiant smile that blazed like the sun, but it wasn’t a fake smile used only to apologize for disinterest. It was a beginning. And if Safriel was willing to give Dezique a change, to give him that beginning, then Kalagis was going to as well. The young angel deserved it, and at this point there wasn’t much of a choice. There was work to be done.


	11. Twinkle, Twinkle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jasrien gets some advice from a bastard's bastard.

Jasrien sat on a park bench with a Coca-Cola in his hands and a cruel smile on his face. He didn’t intend it to be a particularly cruel smile, but it was the type of expression that kept mothers’ hands firmly on the shoulders of their children, steering them away from the man who apparently had nothing to do except sit on a park bench and maniacally grin. Jasrien was excited, unreasonably so, because today he was going to do something that was normally forbidden. Jasrien was going fairy hunting.

Faeries were officially off-limits to angels for a variety of reasons, dating back to the creation of angels and demons. Angels were divinely created beings of light and though, conversely, demons were creatures born of malice, hate, and misery. They were absolutes, extremes, and removed from the world of mortals. A common misconception that infuriated Jasrien, though often left Safriel smiling, was the idea that deceased beings somehow miraculously became angels upon death. That was, Jasrien was apathetic to declare, false. The dead became spirits, and everything that happened to spirits after dying was, quite frankly, a mystery to Jasrien. Jasrien knew that there was an Isle of Spirits in Heaven and that there were fields and circles of Hell, but Jasrien was also aware of Purgatory’s existence, and that was what he couldn’t quite puzzle out. 

Purgatory was a world of endless fog and mist, and no one-- save God-- was quite sure how big it was. It was here that the majority of spirits ended up, Jasrien knew that, and it was generally understood that existence in Purgatory was like sleeping for spirits, waiting for The End. The realm was ruled by the Finn, a breed of beings that were not quite demons but not true angels either. Their origin was murky at best, a mystery in all honesty. The Finn were as old as the denizens of Heaven and Hell, and ruled with the same elegance and ruthlessness. The number of Finn was also up for hot debate; there were definitely far fewer Finn then there were angels or demons. Some estimates put them at a few hundred, others as low as twenty five. Whatever the number, a second concrete fact about the Finn was that they were powerful. Much more powerful than any single angel or demon, perhaps more powerful than a single Archangel. Fortunately, they rarely left their domain, so their power was rarely displayed.

The other thing about the Finn was that they were… promiscuous. Finn bred indiscriminately with all manner of creatures, with a variety of results. Some unions brought forth no offspring, some offspring died upon birth. Sometimes hybrids were created but most of these hybrids were sterile. However, one or two couplings did produce viable offspring, and it was here that things got tricky. The union of a Finn and an angel was rare, as few angels were willing to be seduced by the rulers of Purgatory. Should a child be borne from them, the babe would be a unique hybrid that was, perhaps most importantly, fertile. These creatures were without name, unloved by angel or Finn, and moved through life with only the singular drive to mate. The result of this second union was quickly followed by the hybrid’s demise, but the ultimate result was a fae, a twice removed child of immortal beings.

The fae were still mostly scorned by angels, and Jasrien had personally never met one. They were supposed to be extraordinary creatures though. They had the beauty and grace of angels, the power and features of a Finn, the functional immortality of both, and frequently the sharp wit of a human somewhere in the geneology. Fae lived in the world of mortals, being denied Heaven or Hell, and were consigned to Purgatory should they somehow find a way to perish. Some fae chose to live their immortal lives sequestered away in half-plane shifts or in remote locations, while other fae chose to simply conceal their true nature and try to live as close to human as possible. Humans had a dislike for the unnatural, from the deviant, that Jasrien could never understand. It led to prejudice against witches, most of whom were guilty of nothing but having a brand upon the back of their neck, and the fear led humans to scorn and terrorize others, the most famous example of this scorn being the Great Magi Purge. No matter where the fae ended up living, they always hoarded power. And they still took mates. The mates came easier than for their parents or the Finn, and the fae did not die upon birthing a litter of children. But a fae would not bear fae, only the diminutive faerie. And it was one of these that Jasrien was attempting to catch.

Fairies liked sweets. They liked honey, they liked sugar, they liked candy, they liked pastries. If something had glucose in any concentration, a fairy would love it. Hence the can of soda held in Jasrien’s hands. The soda was just the bait, just part one of a fairy catching attempt. A fairy circle was part two. That was a little harder to come by, but not by a lot. Any old ring of any sort could serve as a fairy circle if the right amount of belief could be put into it. The tricky part was finding a circle that a fairy was actually likely to visit. Fairies liked energy, they liked a place that was vibrant and full of expression, full of feeling. Jasrien had gone to New Chora University to find a suitable circle, and before too long he had found the perfect spot. Center court of the secondary student rec center had a neat little circle in white court paint, seemingly waiting for Jasrien and his plan. The building was a little dingy, but Jasrien didn’t really mind. Cleanliness wasn’t what was important. The last step was arguably the most frustration: waiting for the proper moment. At 1:36 in the morning, Jasrien found his moment.

“Fairy, faerie, dancing light. Come to me from darkest night. I call you, bastard’s bastard, to serve me and my wills. Come to me.” Jasrien felt extraordinarily stupid saying the words, but they were what the manuscripts indicated would work. For a moment there was nothing but dust motes floating in an exposed beam of moonlight. Then one mote broke off, rapidly growing until it revealed itself to be just the creature Jasrien was hunting. The fairy had a mop of mossy green hair and skin with an unnatural blue tinge; its amber yellow eyes never seemed to settle on any one subject for long. After growing to about two feet tall the fairy settled down within the ring, wrapping its arm around the soda can.

“I forbid you to leave until you have yielded to my desires,” Jasrien said gravely.

The faerie made a strange clicking noise in the back of its throat, its iridescent wings shivering in annoyance. “Under what authority?”

“I know your name.”

The faerie didn’t freeze, nor did it show any sign of concern. If anything, it shrugged off Jasrien’s words. “Many creatures know my name. My name is as moonlight upon a bird’s wing, famous to multitudes. You cannot bind me.”

“No,” Jasrien whispered. “You are Autumn-Moonlight-Upon-Sparrow’s-Wings. A thoroughly pretentious name, but your name nonetheless.” The faerie froze at that. “But I know you further. I Know you to be M’karajell-Laa, and I name you such, and so forth I bind you.”

The faerie screamed, tears of fury leaking out of its poisonous eyes as it decried Jasrien and his evil. It fell to the ground, teeth gnashing and grinding as it beat upon the floor with its hands and feet. “You cheat! You should not know such things! It is not fair!”

“Nothing right now is fair,” Jasrien said. He couldn’t find it in himself to pity the fairy, no matter how miserable it seemed. The angel didn’t quite trust that it wasn’t all just an elaborate act. “I have questions, will you answer them?”

“Release me once you have answers.”

“Only if you promise to tell me the full, straightforward truth to your best ability. No half truths, no riddles.”

The fairy bit something out that was close enough to agreement for Jasrien. It wasn’t as if the wretched creature had another choice.

“What manner of creature moved within this city and caused the destruction seen in the Kiger building?”

The tears and fury fell away at once, replaced by a look that could only be described as a look of shock. So it had been an act. “What manner of mortal are you to know such things?” The faerie blinked, then peered closer at Jasrien. Eyes widening, the fairy began to scream again. “Angel! Fallen angel! You are a cheater! You Knew my name! I am forbidden to you! Verboten! Interdicted!”

“I am fallen,” Jasrien said curtly. “The normal rules don’t apply to me right now. And please, stop screaming. You’re giving me a headache.”

“I should not have to answer your questions, liar.”

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true wretch. You made a bastard’s deal without thinking to confirm what I am, and I allowed you to operate under assumptions. That is your fault, not mine. You are still bound to answer my questions. What manner of creature came walking here?”

“My forefather,” the faerie said. “A grandfather, shrouded in mist, lost within fog.”

“Above and below,” Jasrien swore.

“And in between,” the fairy smirked.

“Why was a Finn here?”

“I do not know.”

“Truly?”

The faerie’s eyes narrowed and shifted in what Jasrien realized was embarrassment. “Truly.”

“Tell me everything you know about the circumstances around the Finn’s being here, gossip, everything.”

The faerie’s mouth twisted as if it had eaten something sour. “There is something going on that we all know of but about which we do not speak. It is like a hurricane brewing off the coast, far enough to allow us to live under the illusion of security but nevertheless bearing down on us. It comes mile by mile, foot by foot, inch by inch. We fear it. We worship it. It has its fingers in mortals, in angels, in Finn and in devils. And it is coming. Always coming. Delayed, but never stopped.” The fairy put a finger to its lips, peering into Jasrien’s eyes. “Can you not hear it? Shh, shh. Listen. No, the sound is drowned out by your heartbeat. But you will hear it eventually.”

Jasrien had gone very pale and very still, feeling very small under the wicked yellow eyes of the fairy. “What is it?”

“Hmm. Mortals get three questions, is that not true?”

Jasrien blinked. “I have bound you.”

“You bound me with a standard compact,” the faerie smirked. “You got three answers, no more, no less. Our bargain is done.” Jasrien jumped at the sharp pop of the coke being opened. The fairy dipped its hand into the can, licking soda from its lightly tufted fingertips. “You should have been more specific in the beginning, striking a bargain beyond a standard agreement between a faerie and… mortals.” The creature gave Jasrien a disdainful look as its wings began to blur into motion. Lifting off the ground, M’karajell-Laa actually laughed at the fallen angel. “I will give you something free of charge, without any strings. It is for my own amusement that I do this, but allow me to tell you that you are not the first being to look into this matter. Not too long ago an oracle was consulted and given a fortune that spoke to this very matter, not that he understood.”

“Who?” It came out as a pathetic plea. Jasrien was no longer in a position to make demands.

The fairy made those strange clicking sounds in the back of its throat. “The Devil himself. The Morningstar. And he walks among us now.” Then the fairy was gone, just another mote adrift in the moonlight.


	12. La Symphonie Angelique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Symphony (n.): An elaborate musical composition for full orchestra

Candy had two jobs. Well, two that brought in an income. She worked with Habitat for Humanity in her spare time, but that was just because she liked building stuff and helping people. Building homes for the needy, while altruistic, didn’t exactly bring home the bacon. On the other hand, her other two jobs-- the cash paying ones-- were perfect for her. Candy could spend her nights as a scandalous debutante and borderline illegal entertainer before spending her days making frappes and dripping espresso at the local coffee chain. The night job satisfied Candy’s desire to live big, to live flashy, to be exciting and thrilling and taboo. She met and experienced people in ways that would never happen outside of a hazy club. Her second job was fast paced, radically different than her night job, and gave her a different type of human contact. She loved it. She loved the smell of coffee, she loved her regulars, she loved the look on a person’s face when they realized their night girl was giving them their morning joe.

“Ya tip ain’t that big,” Candy smirked, reveling in the uncomfortable grimace “Philip” was wearing. “I gotta make ends meet. Ya know?” Candy finished foaming the milk and quickly stirred it into the coffee, making sure that bubbles were uniformly small. “And next time,” she whispered, “don’t grab girls without permission. You just might draw back a nub.” She pushed the latte into his hand, mourning the fact that she wouldn’t be able to see his face when he realized she had “accidentally” used expired milk. Her victory-basking was short lived, however, as the line kept moving. The next customer was an stupid handsome though, so it wasn’t as if Candy minded.

* * *

 

Jeanette knew that Candy worked in this coffee shop; she had mentioned it to the doctor at some point or another with a solid invitation and a promise of a discount. And some days, Jeanette just really needed some coffee. This was one of those days. Davie was at school, Pam was wrangling the clinic, and Jeanette was slated to meet with Percy and his board of developers for most of the day. It was going to be hell, not that she could do anything about it. So her immediate solution was to buy an absolute bomb of sugar and caffeine and pray the high would carry her through the day. It wasn’t a sophisticated approach, but it would hopefully get the job done. Hearing some awful retching sound, Jeanette turned her head just in time to see an old man spit out his coffee all over the sidewalk. Behind the counter, Candy smiled. Jeanette wasn’t sure if that was because of the spitting man or the strawberry blonde that she was currently serving. Knowing Candy, probably both. Jeanette could only hope that the man’s disgust was due to something intentional, not an inability to make coffee on Candy’s part. The current customer moved away from the counter at last, coffee cup clenched in his hand, and Jeanette could just barely see a phone number scribbled on the cup. Jeanette shook her head and smiled to herself. Candy was incorrigible.

“Doc Pearson? I didn’t know that you came by here! I ain’t never seen you here before either.”

“You invited me a while ago, and I wanted to just drop by. See how you are. That sort of thing.”

“Oh.” Something in Candy’s face changed, got a little more guarded. “Drop in consultations?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing. Whatcha want Doc?”

“A big ass frappe.”

Candy snorted out a laugh as she punched the order in the register. “My kinda girl. One big ass frap coming up.”

“But really.” Jeanette dug through her purse, fishing out a five dollar bill. “How are you. It wasn’t that long ago that… you know.”

Candy rang up Jeanette’s order silently, face growing pale. “I know,” she whispered, handing back the change.

“Keep it. And come talk to me if you need it. Please.”

Candy squinted at Jeanette as she passed off a cup to a coworker. “Why?”

“Because people need people,” Jeanette said simply.

“That sounds like shit,” Candy said without a trace of sarcasm, handing over a very large frappe. “Some things are for one person. ‘S easier that way.”

Jeanette wanted to argue, wanted to keep pressing. But she knew there wasn’t a battle here she could win. “I’ll see you around.”

“Thanks,” Candy said, offering a half-hearted wave. Jeanette offered one back before disappearing out the door.

* * *

 

Dr. Jeanette Pearson was wearing a far away look on her face as she sat across the table from Percival. He wasn’t quite sure what was preoccupying her, but he didn’t exactly care today. Mr. Warren Lance was waiting outside of Percival’s office, and it wasn’t a meeting to which Percival was particularly looking forward. Mr. Lance was finishing the demolition of the Kiger building, and that was all well and good, but Percival was a little more than worried that Warren was about to drop some sort of bomb on him. And after Warren… Well. Percival wasn’t thinking about his 2:45 appointment too much.

“So I will continue to get city funding?” Dr. Pearson’s voice cut through Percival’s thoughts, startling him. Percival took a moment to cough into a handkerchief, resenting the doctor’s impudence. Realistically she couldn’t know that he was getting lost in a rabbit hole of thoughts, but she had nerve to speak without being spoken to first. That was annoying.

“Yes,” Percival said, voice hoarse. “Government tax dollars will continue to fund your little endeavor. But I have to admit, there will be less and less money each year from here on out. It would still be in your interest to consider consolidation.”

“No.” Dr. Pearson’s voice was firm. Percival admired her fortitude; none of the other private clinics he had set his sights on had lasted this long. Dr. Pearson was a uniquely tough nut to crack, but Percy was far from done. He hadn’t even started calling in favors yet. Dr. Pearson took an annoyingly large slurp from her coffee cup, sucking more air than anything else. “Pardon,” she said, “I didn’t expect so much air. Are we done here?”

“Yes,” Percival tutted, “we are. Good day Ms. Pearson.”

“Doctor,” Dr. Pearson mildly corrected.

“Yes, yes. Doctor Pearson.”

“Thank you Mr. Equitan.”

Percival frowned, a finger tracing the edge of his phone. He picked up the receiver and punched a few keys, listening to the ringing. “Dr. Jeanette Marie Pearson,” he said clearly into the other end of the line. “She is resisting incorporation, and it is going to be bad for business.” He paused, listening to the other person talk. “I do not know what I expect you to do; I do not want to know what you are doing. But it is getting bothersome. She needs, needs…” Percival trailed off as Warren Lance slipped into his office, his permanent scowl on his face. “Ah. I have to go. Another appointment, you understand. Have fun at the beach, I assume that is where you are? Yes? Well, have a good time. Thank you. Yes. Goodbye.” Percival returned the phone to its cradle with a click, ignoring Warren’s sigh.

“Are you ready to see me now?”

“Are you going to play nice today?”

Warren broke his scowl to flash a sharp grin. “I always play nice.”

“No, you always play fair. There is, unfortunately, a difference.”

Warren flashed another grin, barking out a laugh to go with it. “You are not wrong. I am just here to tell you that cleanup of that old site will be finished tomorrow.”

Percival blinked. “Completely?”

“Yes. We are twenty four hours from moving past all that.”

Percival sat down heavily, cracking his knuckles. ”Thank the lord for that.”

Another barking laugh from Warren, this one a little cynical. “I will head out, but I just wanted to let you know that Franklin just got word to me; he is back on the map.”

“Franklin is back on it? It took him long enough. Where is the old fool?”

“When he spoke to me he was getting a bite to eat at a cafe in some place called N’djaka.”

“N’djaka? I will keep an eye on it.”

“Mind you do. I do not suppose you have any good news for me?”

Percival stood, gesturing to the door. “I am afraid not. I wish I could spend more time with you, but duty calls. You understand.”

“I do.” Warren said it in such a way that Percival didn’t have a doubt in his mind that Warren did understand, understood only in the way men cut from the same cloth could.

“It was good to see you Warren.”

“And you, Percival.” Warren left without any further formality, ending their brief meeting just as quickly and easily as it had began. Percival sunk into his seat as the door closed, alone at last with his thoughts. He spared a quick glance at the clock, counting minutes until his 2:45.

* * *

 

At 3:00 sharp, Vincintanious strode out of the City Council chambers. His meeting with Mr. Equitan hadn’t been disastrous, but it had been far from fruitful.  The old man seemed to think Vincintanious some kind of errand boy, asking Vincintanious if he could perhaps do this or that out of some sort of benevolent generosity. It was… amusing, to say the least. Mr. Equitan was still concerned about the stranger who had pulled the Kiger files, though Vincintanious was sure at this point that if Jasrien had wanted to do anything with whatever information he could have gleaned, his move would have been made by now. Glancing at the calendar on his phone-- truly, an amazing device-- Vincintanious again did the mental calculation from mortal days to the angelic calendar. Soon. Everything was so soon for mortals. It was the ultimate disadvantage of their pathetically short lives. Turtles though, Vincintanious liked turtles. They were around long enough to appreciate things, to learn. Walking down the street, Vincintanious idly daydreamed about taking Simocian to the beach to visit turtles. The demon would like it, Vincintanious thought, the way the turtles’ fins cut through the water like a knife. How they flew without wings. Vincintanious was moving down an alley, a known shortcut, when he froze, seemingly scenting the air. And then he grew afraid. It was a deep, possessing, instinctual fear, overriding any and all conscious thought. Doing what any animal would do when confronted with an all consuming fear, Vincintanious-- Angel of Winter, Harbinger of Frost, an angel sent to Hell personally by Archangel Azrael-- bolted. Like a scared rabbit. Ungracefully yet swiftly he turned on his heel and fled back towards the city center, towards anywhere he could hide. Because if an ounce of his suspicion was correct, at the other end of that alley waited certain demise. Vincintanious mentally took stock of the city, gauging both any and all places he could disappear and whether or not Jasrien had reacted to the presence yet. The Angel of Winter had no doubt that the other angel was aware of it by now, but Vincintanious didn’t have time to go check on the Angel of Nature to see what he was up to. There was only time to flee whatever it was that made Vincintanous want to flay himself and leech out of the gaps in his own skin.

* * *

 

“So, the real beauty of _Les Miserables_ lies in the power of separate people, how distinct individuals across generations and classes can interact and interplay to create or contribute to something bigger than themselves.”

Davie impatiently tapped his pencil against his desk, listening to his English teacher drone on and on and on about Victor Hugo. Victor Hugo was this, he was that, he was amazing! Well, if he was that amazing, Davie thought, he would have known when to just stop talking and cut to the chase. Were all those pages waxing poetic about the Parisian sewers really necessary? Was it crucial to understand the history of the Battle of Waterloo to understand that Marius’ grandfather was a veteran? Davie didn’t think so, but at this point it was too late to send Victor Hugo hate mail. Somewhere in all those supposedly superfluous pages, Davie feared, was a point, some hidden design that was far more clever than he expected, but until he was forcibly dragged to the point and made to understand it, Davie was choosing to remain ignorant. And in the meantime, he was bored. Terribly, monolithically, bored.

“Mr. Pearson, are you still with us?”

Davie nodded and offered his teacher a thumbs up. “Beauty in the the coming together, yep.” Some people had resting bitch face, but Davie had what he liked to call resting sleep face. Granted, he was never too far from falling asleep. That was entirely his friends’ faults. Davie had a very bad habit of texting with his friends late into the night instead of sleeping, a habit which he only regretted the day after. Currently, it was his friend Charlie that was keeping him up into the night. Charlie was with their family in North Carolina doing some sort of family thing; Davie knew that they were a family of witches, but beyond that Davie was in the dark. Davie had never known a witch before, nor had he known that Charlie was a witch when he met them. Though to be fair, Davie thought that the androgynous teen was a girl when Davie first met them, so there had been a lot of unexpected turns in the pair’s friendship. Charlie would text Davie at night to fill him in on what their family had been up to, and to be honest it sounded incredibly boring. Charlie was just gardening a lot and not doing magic, which Davie thought was a waste of having magic. But it was what it was.

Before he knew it, the bell was ringing and Davie was free to go. Stopping by his locker, Davie was stuffing books into his backpack when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Sparing a glance from the teetering junk pile that made up his locker, Davie was treated to lip-glossed smile from Mackayla Diaz.

“Hey Davie-boy, was your mom given an invite to that mayoral gala?” Rolling his eyes, Davie tried to push past Mackayla before being bodyblocked by a girl from geometry- Rose Laurette.

“Didn’t think you were on Mackayla’s leash,” Davie muttered as he tried to side step her as well.

“I hold my own leash,” Rose shot back.

“Kinky,” Davie said, finally evading the two. “Bye.”

Davie was sure that the two were talking to one another as he walked away. Usually he was on good terms with Mackayla, though he had never talked to Rose before in his life. But knowing the former, she was about to embark on a very long one sided conversation that would be fun for no one. So it was easier to just leave. To just walk home, one foot in front of the other, and get himself home.

* * *

 

Michael’s wings were silent. It was something intrinsic to him, to all Archangels, and it was a gift that he was so accustomed to he rarely appreciated it. Michael alighted before Metatron in a similarly silent fashion, taking in the Chancellor’s face.

“I require an audience with God.” Metatron stayed silent, pen moving across the surface of his tablet, engraving the entirety of creation as it unfolds. “Chancellor,” Michael said pointedly. “Allow me past your seat into the council and embrace of God.” Still, Metatron was silent. Michael, too, stopped pressing the scribe. There was no sound by the scratch of pen across the tablet. The two were silent for a long time, long by mortal times though short by angelic standards, and it was lonely. It was lonely because Michael was there, so close to his goal yet so far away, separated only by a person who wasn’t a person. Who wasn’t even willing to entertain Michael.

“May I enter the council and embrace of God? I require advice.”

Barely looking up from his tablet, Metatron finally responded. “What may God offer that you yourself will not provide?”

“Knowledge.”

“Have you none?”

“Wisdom.”

“Have you none?”

“Consolation.”

“Have you none?”

Michael was silent again, for longer than the first time. “Affirmation. Affirmation from a power greater than my own.”

Metatron hummed then, pen still moving. He was cloaked in something gossamer and shapeless and beautiful, and Michael hated it. He hated how it made the Chancellor look weak when the scribe was anything but. Michael hated how it hid Metatron’s wings, and shone brighter than even his aura.

“What do I write, Archangel?”

“The history and unfolding of Creation; everything that ever was and currently is as they all progress into what they will be.”

“What do I know, Archangel?”

Michael opened his mouth to reply before closing it. There seemed to be an obvious answer, yet Michael doubted it. “Do you not know everything, given that you record everything?”

“No.” Metatron stood from his seated position, never ceasing in his writing. “I know only what I know, only what I have lived.” Metatron indicated with his chin Heaven around the two angels. “I know only here, having only seen here. I sit a the foot of the Throne of God and record but I do not know.” He sat again, allowing the two to lapse again into silence.

“Why do you tell me this?” Michael’s voice was quiet, weary.

“I do not know.”

“Am I to provide my own affirmation?”

“Perhaps. What can you offer yourself that God cannot?”

“Nothing.” Michael’s response was instant, absolute.

“Then you are to lose in whatever struggle has you fleeing to the Heavensphere for guidance. Look, Archangel, observe how the sphere is but waves of light and sound and thought and emotion. Reflect upon how solid it seems from a distance, how impenetrable, but know that it is nothing solid. Nothing in Heaven is solid. We are all our own. We are all God’s. We have free will, but no will but that of God. We do good in the world until we do evil, at which point we oppose ourselves. It is our duty to carry this world to eternal glory until it is time to bring it to utter destruction. I write this record for my entire existence until I break it upon my knee. But still I know nothing. We are but thoughts, Michael, in our forms here, thoughts of God and dreams of mortals and the sum of hymns chanted in our praise, though we take no credit for the action of God, which is our free will, which is the will of God.” The writing was faster now, though not frantic, the pen an endless looping racer across the endless tablet recording all of existence.

“So how shall we triumph?”

“Gloriously. Silently.”

“Surely you have recorded the events that concern me, just as surely as you record this now?”

“Surely I have, though I do not know it.”

“Then how shall I, shall we, triumph? What is the battle? Who is the winner?”

“Not the flowers of Earth,” Metatron said softly. “It is the small things that get trampled by mighty beings, or ignored entirely. Both are mercies and damnations. Remember Michael, in the beginning there was nothing. Try to imagine that, if you will, and realize you cannot. We spring from this nothing into everything and it is by God and we go out on our own to honor God and the gifts provided. There is no clear beginning to a circle, and you have known this since I reminded you that nothing is solid. You are handsome, Michael, scarred by the Dragon you cut down and whose horn now faithfully serves as the hilt of your blessed blade. But this will not be a conflict from which you can earn scars and win.”

“So there is nothing for me here?”

“Nothing you did not already have. But you did not come here for advice, you came for a solution. And now you have been counseled by me, by God.”

* * *

 

Safriel soared through the air with nothing but joy. Nine years was short for an angel who has lived hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of years, but the last three had felt tenuous in an unbearable way. Each day that marched by was another day closer to Safriel returning to Earth, to where Jasrien was marooned and where he might once again be found. Kalagis flew ahead of him, Dezique to her left. The younger angel was chatting, always chatting. The first weeks had been unbearable. The rest of the time only slightly less so.

“Oh, I am so incredibly excited to once again return to the mortal world and visit those of Earth.” Dezique looped in the air around Kalagis, tittering as he did. “It has been far too long since I last visited, I wonder if they have overcome the rats by now.”

“The rats?”

“Yes! The rats carry the fleas, one of God’s smallest creations, yet it is within the fleas that the disease is being carried. Those silly mortals; I hope they have discovered that it is the rats. Or the fleas. I suppose I just hope they have overcome the plague by now.” Dezique continued to talk, but Safriel didn’t hear him. His thoughts were once again on Jasrien. Safriel wondered what he had been up to, and he wondered how long Jasrien had been on Earth at this point. Time moved strangely in Heaven, and Safriel had spent the last nine years in a place beyond time. So really, it could have been decades for Jasrien. Centuries. Weeks. Who knew? Perhaps Jasrien had already returned to Heaven, though Safriel wouldn’t know it. Kalagis’ team was to directly proceed to Earth to apprehend Simocian. Directly confront the demon and return it to Hell. It was a task. Another step in an endless cycle. But that didn’t matter to Safriel, smiling softly to himself as he soared through the cosmos. He would see his beloved soon.

* * *

 

Jasrien was tired. And still technically homeless, though he had been keeping himself alright. A bench here, a shelter there. He had to shave now, and do other human things, which shouldn’t have surprised him but did anyway. He was physical, tangible, no longer just light and thoughts. He could bleed red iron blood. And he was obsessing over what the fairy had told him. Lucifer was here. But was it Lucifer that he felt in that construction site? Or was it Finn? Or something else? Jasrien doubted it was the Morningstar, he would have been more careful. He was smarter than that. The Finn were a possibility, but that just raised questions as to why they were in the city in the first place. Were they trying to make a move? Get attention? Was Jasrien playing into their hands by investigating? And still, despite her utter rejection of him and his help, Jasrien was worried about Jeanette Pearson. There was something evil around her, he _knew_ it. But he didn’t know how to help her. He couldn’t lurk outside her home, that would just alarm her. He couldn’t keep trying to force his help on her, nor could he just ignore her. If he waited long enough, he was sure, an opportunity would present itself. He just had to wait for it. And then, by providence, there she was, crossing the street.

He was calling out before he fully thought it through. “Jeanette!” She turned, frowned, and walked towards him.

“Ja… Jasrien? That’s your name, right? Jasrien, the self proclaimed angel?”

“Yes! I was worried you would have forgotten me.”

“Unlikely,” she muttered.

“I’m sorry for how I was too-- how do you humans say-- extra, on that night. It was all a little too much too fast.”

“You’re still convinced you’re an angel?”

“It’s still the truth. And you’ve come into contact with something evil again.”

“I got out of a killer meeting, but surely not something that would trip your incredible angelic senses.”

“Probably not,” Jasrien agreed before he realized that she was mocking him. “Oh.” He opened his mouth to deliver something gently scathing in reply when several events happened very fast. First, Jasrien was struck with a sense of impending doom. Not a second later, a man rushed the pair, a switchblade clicking out from his hand. Operating on impulse and instinct, Jasrien stepped around Jeanette and shepherded her into his back, shielding her. Raising his hand, Jasrien remembered the Old Prose, his language, the Lexvoca. And he spoke it, light flashing in his palm as the would-be assailant crumpled, blade falling to the ground. Around them people walked up and down the busy street, completely oblivious to the actions in their midst. Jasrien picked up the knife and offered it to Jeanette, who was looking him with a peculiar expression on her face. It wasn’t disbelief, nor shock, nor anger at being handled like a child. It was an expression of resignation and acceptance, and Jasrien smiled as she carefully took the blade.

“So,” Jeanette said, beginning to walk down the street. “Tell me about Heaven.”


	13. The Drawing Board

****

Jophiel arrived first, his youthful face flushed. He was unsure if it was from nerves or excitement, or perhaps some sick combination of both. He was arriving in Metatron’s stead, as was customary; the Chancellor, while technically an Archangel, cannot leave his post. Therefore, the young angel always attended the meetings in Metatron’s stead. It wasn’t unusual.

Zadkiel arrived next, dagger hanging at his side. His face was placid, as was usual, though he carried a tension in his shoulders that was unusual. Zadkiel had been on edge as of late, all the Archangels had noticed, though only God could know why.

Uriel and Azrael arrived together, conversation lapsing as the two took their seats. Uriel’s tome was nowhere to be seen, which was a little unusual, but Azrael’s broadsword sat right between his wings as usual, heavenly fire burning bright along the blade. The two shared a look with Zadkiel, and something unspoken went between them, some unaired anxiety. If a conversation was silently had between the trio it was cut short by the arrival of the final three Archangels.

Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael emerged in order from one of Michael’s personal rooms, each exuding power. From each angel’s side, their symbols resonated with the sudden surge of power in the small meeting room. As soon as each angel had taken his seat, Michael began to speak.

“Jophiel, how do you fare?”

“I fare well, Archangel. Thank you.”

“Metatron thanks you for your willingness to stay here with us, as he cannot abandon his post at the Throne of God.”

“It is an honor, Archangel.”

The pleasantries circled for a little while longer before Azrael stood. “Michael, I would like to introduce guests to our meeting.”

Michael nodded, this wasn’t unexpected. “Who do you propose?”

“The General Ntazil, the Brigadier General Claire, and the Commander Atasha.”

Michael paused, weighing his options. “I will permit the General and the Brigadier General, but the Commander needs not know the details of this meeting.” Vincintanious would be brought up here-- it was unavoidable. Atasha didn’t need to go through that. Michael suspected that some prideful part of the Commander would begrudge Michael this decision if she knew of it, that she would willingly undergo the embarrassment just to prove that she could. But now wasn’t the time.

“Understandable.” Azrael drew his sword and struck the ground with the tip twice, the sound echoing. A moment later, Ntazil and Claire entered the room, standing against the wall.

“May we proceed?” Gabriel’s voice was a silky sneer. He always hated onlookers. His hands betrayed his nerves, as his fingers continuously drummed on the barrel of his horn.

Confident that he commanded the room’s attention, Michael began. “There is something wrong with the world,” Michael announced. “Surely you have all felt it in your individual duties.” Each Archangel nodded, and the three lesser angels exchanged a glance. “The demon Simocian once again walks among the Earth, despite his unbinding and obliteration at the hands of the angel Jasrien only a short while ago. The angel Jasrien, despite being in fallen exile, used a word of the Lexvoca and angelic power. The Finn have seemingly disappeared from their posts, Purgatory stands open, yet the spirits consigned to there to not flee into the world. Lucifer walks amidst the worlds beyond Hell. Creation is tainted with some sort of plague, a disruptive grain of sand in God’s creation.” There was tittering amongst the Archangels, looks of open worry from the lesser angels.

“Well?” Uriel’s voice was frank. “You have gotten us all sufficiently frightened. What do you propose we do?”

Michael looked down. “I do not know. That is why I have called us together.”

“You…” The sentence died on Jophiel’s tongue. “You are Michael. The third eldest, the leader. Our leader. How do you not know?”

Michael didn’t blush because he had no blood. He felt shame though, for he had that in abundance. And the question of the young angel, though unintentional, highlighted just how much shame was deserved. “I have sought counsel from God, and I have received counsel from our eldest brother. Metatron, though he absolved my personal doubts, could not offer me any firm solutions. Which is why I now ask you all for help.”

“So.” Azrael leaned forward, one finger playing with the corner of his lip. “You need to decide how to deal with an unknown problem that is spread across, conceivably, all of creation? And could require a response at a moment’s notice? There is an easy solution.”

Michael opened his mouth to agree before being cut off by Raphael. “No, Azrael.” Raphael seemed and sounded bored, sitting and playing with his hair, but his tone was absolute.

“Raphael?” Gabriel’s fingers had reached a marathon pace before stopping at once, realizing what the Angel of Death was insinuating. He had always been less in tune with Azrael than the others. “Oh. Azrael, that is a bad idea.”

“The Stonewalkers could be useful,” Azrael protested. “I can activate and lead them at a moment’s notice. Just the sound of Gabriel’s horn, or my own, and we have doubled our army.”

“No.” That was Michael now, and his word was law. Claire and Ntazil, veterans of the War, were silent. Michael couldn’t blame them. They had seen the Stonewalkers in action. It wasn’t something easily forgotten. “My say is final. Metatron would agree, were he here.”

Azrael didn’t sulk, he just leaned back into his chair. “We will see. What do our two lesser generals think?”

“I matters not what we think,” Claire said. “We answer to Archangels, and to Michael.”

Azrael raised an eyebrow at her words but said nothing else, waving his hand to allow the debate to resume. It was boring for Azrael, all the sitting and talking and planning. He was an Archangel of action, of death and retribution and justice. This room was stifling and unproductive. Michael was brilliant yet cautious, and with reason. Caution had won the last war. Raphael and Uriel were in lockstep with Michael, Raphael by choice and Uriel by nature. Gabriel was too often a wild card, too often prone to flights of fancy and singular quests handed down from on high. Metatron was similarly unaccountable, and Jophiel was a poor substitute simply because he was not an Archangel. It was frustrating, but not unusual.

“Before we attempt to deal with a sickness that plagues the Earth, may we reacquire the Bogen-Sterne?” That was classic Uriel, always cautious. Recoup before moving forward. His book had been produced from somewhere, and it hummed in the divine presence of its master. “Perhaps the ailment in the universe is due to its influence.”

“Possibly,” Michael conceded. “But the Bogen-Sterne is currently out of our hands.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is in an… inconvenient place,” Michael said tersely.

“It sounds as if you have lost it,” Jophiel said.

“It is not lost,” Gabriel sighed. “Michael, Raphael and I have just been keeping the location on a need-to-know basis.The fallen angel Vincintanious took the Bogen-Sterne from the summit of Avalrix and the team we sent to retrieve it. He then passed it to an intermediary, and it is currently unknown how many hands it passed through before ending up in the Garden.”

Jophiel blinked, dumbstruck. “The Garden?”

“In the arms of Solcordia herself, ironically.”

“Then why do we not just go in and retrieve it?”

Gabriel sighed again, rolling his eyes at the angel’s persistence. The other Archangels seemed to be tolerating Jophiel well. “The people of the Old City have some… interesting notions about angels.”

“Annoying,” coughed a voice that sounded suspiciously like Uriel’s.

“They think that any angelic presence will come from within the city and that it will be an immediate sign of The End.”

Jophiel blinked, confusion written all over his face. “Since when do we care what they mortals think about us? Their lives are so short. They will forget. Or we could compel them to forget. They are like ants, how much trouble could it be?”

“Mortals have developed more sophisticated information systems, and their memories have gotten longer. It is unfortunate, certainly, but we can no longer just enter and exit as we once did. It is too troublesome.” Jophiel frowned at Michael’s gently worded response, but he said nothing else.

Zadkiel spoke then, a hand ironically raised. “What of Jasrien, then, and the failed mission to retrieve the Bogen-Sterne? Is the fallout of that disaster finally contained?”

Michael nodded seemingly to himself as he “Jasrien is still in exile, working off his penance. Kalagis and Safriel, with Dezique, are in the mortal plane now to find and deal with Simocian.”

“That seems like quite the coincidence, having them all there together again.”

“Even more so with Vincintanous somewhere in the mix,” Azrael noted.

“Very coincidental indeed. And you claim that Jasrien tapped the Lexvoca recently? Despite the fact that angels are to be completely stripped of their active powers and graces upon falling?”

“Yes. I am convinced that Jasrien’s access to power, weak as it is, is a symptom of the sickness.”

“Ah, we are back to the sickness.” Zadkiel drew and inspected his dagger before placing it on the table. “Do we have any suspicions as to the origin of this plague?”

Michael shook his head. “None beyond the Bogen-Sterne, but even that is hazy.”

“The Bogen-Sterne, or its contents?”

“Gabriel.” Raphael’s voice was terse, warning his fellow Archangel off of that line of thinking. “The Bogen-Sterne could not possibly have such a vast area of effect from its current position.”

“What if it was properly positioned?” Jophiel frowned, looking at the network of lights that floated above Michael’s war table. “If the mortals got it just so, and aligned everything just right, then could it be to blame?”

Michael frowned a little before shaking his head. “Potentially, but it is impossible to move that much energy without anyone noticing. The Bogen-Sterne definitely could not be activated and opened without anyone noticing. The input and output would be massive, too massive to ignore. Even the mortal governments would be instantly tipped off, and they are remarkably unobservant.”

“True enough.” The Archangels and lesser angels lapsed into silence at that point, each looking to another to find who would restart the conversation.

“So,” Ntazil said, breaking the silence. “Just so Claire and I understand everything. The Bogen-Sterne is in the Garden. Purgatory stands with its doors wide open, yet no spirits are escaping. The Finn are missing in action, as is the Morningstar. Divine power is accessible to those who should be deprived of it, and chaos demons are reforming in record time, even when they are obliterated completely? And we have no idea what is the root of these occurrences, save a few hazy guesses, nor do we have any solution better than mobilizing the Stonewalkers.”

Michael offered a half-shrug. “In essence, yes.”

“Then let us focus on one issue, one singular thing that can be accomplished.”

“Simocian,” offered Jophiel.

“Already being taken care of,” Michael said.

“Vincintanious,” Azrael growled.

“No,” Ntazil said, seemingly surprised at himself for his impudence, cutting off an Archangel. “Forgive me, Archangel, but I was suggesting we focus on something unrelated to the issue. Something that reaffirms that we are the ones in control, and from there we work with refreshed minds towards a solution to the sickness. Perhaps we will even stumble across a solution to our current problem, or learn more about what we currently face from a new angle.”

“I think that is an excellent idea,” Jophiel said. “Claire? Archangels?”

“I am sure I can find something that requires the Archangels’ attention,” Claire said dryly, “if they think Heaven can bear their absences. Creation is rife with opportunities for angelic intervention. It is only a matter of going to them.”

“Excellent then. If no one else has anything to say, I declare this meeting adjourned.” Michael nodded at his fellow Archangels and the lesser angels before turning his attention to the globe above the table.

Jophiel departed first, as was usual, to update Metatron on the meeting of his peers. Azrael and Ntazil left together, deep in conversation about what sounded like the wards atop Avalrix. Uriel left soon after, needing to reference something in his library, and Claire stepped out to debrief an angelic team back from a salvation run.

“It is just us now,” Raphael said softly. “You may let go.”

A choked noise made its way from Michael’s throat as the Archangel collapsed into his Divine Form. “Did the others notice?”

“I doubt it,” Gabriel said. “Your hand was losing form near the end, and I only noticed that because you were holding yourself against the table as if it were a lifeline.”

“May we join you?” Raphael asked to the disembodied Archangel. “Or do you keep secrets still from us?” Raphael and Gabriel paused, waiting for a rejection, for Michael to send them off. Hearing none, the two Archangels shed their physical forms as well, once again perceiving their brother. The three converged, each individual storm of thoughts and emotions mingling and exchanging with the others.

“Oh. Michael. You are so worried.”

“Yes.”

“But you did not tell us?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because he is stubborn.”

“Because I am stubborn.”

“Because you are afraid?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because we know so little.”

“We are dependent for so much.”

“Oh.”

“We are worried.”

“No.”

“We are afraid.”


	14. Sermon for Ants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While discussing Heaven, Jeanette and Jasrien find time for a little television.

“Alright. So. Let me get this straight.”

Jasrien tilted his head. “As best you can.”

Jeanette leaned forward in her seat, setting down her wine glass as she counted on her hands. “Seven Archangels?”

A nod. “Metatron, Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, Uriel, Zadkiel, and Azrael.”

“But hundreds and hundreds of other angels?”

“Yes, there are lesser angels for everything in Creation. I am an angel of flowers and nature, my mate is an angle of muse and word, and so on.”

“Speaking of, your lover is Safriel? Has a big axe and is a smooth talker?”

Jasrien giggled, if only because he could just imagine Safriel’s reaction to that summary. “In a nutshell.”

“And Kalagis is the other one, and she can see into the future?”

“And across space, but clairvoyance is tricky.”

“But she uses it primarily to make trick shots on the bow?”

Another giggle. “Generally.”

Jeanette took another sip of wine, letting her finger trail around the rim as she studied the liquid within. The two had been talking for most of the night, and about halfway through Jeanette demanded that she have something to drink to help process everything Jasrien was telling her.“And no one’s right?” This was the third time she had asked that particular question.

“No one was entirely right,” Jasrien emphasized. “Lots of people got large chunks of it right. Angels, God, Heaven and Hell. Every major religion that you know about is only major because it stumbled across some number of fundamental Truths. Some logically rationed out some Truths, some just got lucky, but they’re all partially right with lots of wrong mixed in.”

“And the stories? Like Jesus and the flood and everything?”

“Jesus of Nazareth was a real man who walked the world and was crucified. He did speak with angels at least once in his lifetime, but that’s not my story to tell, and I’m not qualified to say anything further. I don’t even know if I’m allowed to tell you that much. As for everything else…” Jasrien leaned back, taking a sip from his own wine glass. “There aren’t a lot of new stories. There are patterns, a set number of threads in the universe that are interwoven over and over and undone and recombined to create every narrative that we know. To your specific question about the Ark, there was at one point a flood sent by God, carried out by angels. There have been several angelic floods since the dawn of Creation. The specific flood referenced in the story of the Ark though… meh. Kalagis could explain all this better than I, she loves this idea of an endlessly resequenced universe.”

“So most of the stories are bunk?”

“I didn’t say that,” Jasrien said. “At some point someone sat down and decided that a lesson must be taught, so they pulled things together to make a narrative. That narrative was then recycled and retold over and over and over by different people across generations like a game of… oh, what is your human phrase?”

“A game of telephone?”

“Yes! Like a telephone! But the narrative had to be crafted from something. There is a fundamental Truth at the heart, it is just obscured or wrapped under layers of retellings and incredibly pointed morals.”

“Alright. So Noah was kind of a dude, kind of a hodgepodge man.” Jeanette stood, getting some more wine from the bottle. “Can you tell me more about angels? What do you all do all day?”

Jasrien shook his head. “First, we don’t have days. You can’t…” Jasrien waved his hand helplessly. “You can’t try to apply human things like days to angelic stuff. What is a day? A rotation of your planet? Why is a day not two rotations? Why is the time of the sun one day and the time of the moon another? What if the earth was slowed? Would it still be twenty four of your constructed hours, or would you base it by the new rotation? Why do you presume Heaven has time? We don’t, in the way humans understand time. We do, in the way angels understand it.”

Jeanette’s next question was abrupt, punctuated by swearing as she spilled a little bit of wine. “Do you have holidays?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do angels have holidays? Festivals or stuff like that?”

Jasrien frowned. “No. Why would God give us those? The closest thing we have to that is The Reascension, but that’s just part of how the universe works. It would be like celebrating the sun coming up.”

“What is it then, The Reascension?”

Jasrien drummed his fingers on the table. “It’s a Divine event that takes place over roughly nine human days. Humans have a holiday that sits roughly in the middle of it, the one with costumes?”

“Halloween?”

“Yes! That one! You all actually derive part of your holiday from The Reascension. Halloween, the midway point of the whole event, is when the walls keeping the mortal world from the other planes of existence get a little fuzzy. This is really important because the mortal world stands in between Hell and Heaven.”

“And that sounds intrinsically dangerous.”

“Quite.”

“But why does the whole thing even happen?”

“Oh, it allows-” Jasrien was cut off by the buzz of Jeanette’s phone. “If I’m boring you by revealing the mysteries of God’s Creation and Divine Plan,” the angel snarked, “please just let me know.”

“No.” Jeanette’s mouth was a tight line as she moved to the television, turning on a news channel. “Something’s happened, all my news feeds are blowing up.”

 

“This is Nadja Saint-Faire,” chirped the television announcer, “bringing you the world’s most up to date news. Reporting now from the Australian Outback is our very own Esmeralda Mendoza, Esmeralda, what’s going on over there?”

“Thanks Nadja.” Esmeralda smiled for the camera, but her knuckles were white on the microphone. “I’m coming at you from the Outback, where over a dozen charred corpses are currently being unearthed. As of right now authorities are unable to discern a cause of death, not surprising given how mangled these bodies are. Sections of flesh have been burned away, something akin to teeth marks have been found on two of the bodies, and nearly all of them have been decapitated.” The camera panned to the landscape behind the newscaster, showcasing the police tape while investigators moved in the background. “Identities, if they have been discerned, have not been disclosed to the public yet, though at least two of the individuals are confirmed to be witches. There are no obvious motives in what is assumed to be a crime, as no one is really sure what to make of this. It’s-- Nadja, it’s just awful. Truly terrible what’s happened here.”

The screen cut back to Nadja, now sitting in oversized chairs with a man in a sharply cut suit. It was strange, Jasrien thought, to cut from a killing field to what looked like library, but the newscaster gave no time for confusion, pushing on with the story. “I’m here now with Lucas Powers, senior partner in the CDM. We’re talking now about the probability of witch involvement in this incident, and what that means as we carry on.”

Lucas smiled, lips stretching back as he leaned forward in his chair. “Thanks for having me Nadja. As Miss Mendoza reported, at least two witches were involved. At this time, it’s too early to definitely say that they instigated these attacks, but scorch marks don’t appear from nowhere. It’s obvious that magic played into this tragedy, which is exactly the sort of thing that the Coalition has been warning everyone about for years.”

“So the CDM’s position is as strong as ever?”

“Nadja, the Coalition to Dismantle Magic’s goal has never wavered.We want stronger limits placed on witches across the world, from France to Lon-Bay. Magic is a weapon just as powerful as a gun-- moreso. We need restrictions.”

“Some would argue that witch governments like the Coventiums and legislation like  _ The Magi Governances _ are already limitations enough. In fact, thousands have been pushing for regulation cutting in the  _ Governances _ for longer than the CDM has existed.”

“That’s because the  _ Governances _ is too big to function. If it could be revised and made applicable, perhaps the CDM would cease to function. But politicians are politicians, and the thing’s just too damn big to kill. Trying to minimize is it a fool’s errand; it’s as redundant and convoluted as the fools who wrote it.”

Nadja frowned. “Wasn’t your grandfather one of the witches who composed the book of laws?”

Lucas nodded, rolling his eyes. “He was, and it was a mistake. He ruined my family’s name in witch society and cut us out of the Coventium.”

“Is that why you have forsaken your magic?”

“This isn’t about me,” Lucas said with a grimace. “I don’t use magic because I believe it to be unfair to humanity. God cursed me with a killing power that I never asked for, and I refuse to serve the agenda of the witches. If I am to kill I will do it like a gentleman, and when it comes time for me to die it will be like all normal people. That’s what the CDM wants at the end of the day: normalcy.”

“Witches are normal,” Nadja pressed. “They’ve been here for hundreds upon hundreds of years.”

Lucas smirked. “Are--” The TV blinked off.

 

“I hate him,” Jeanette admitted, sitting down the remote. “Every time he’s on TV he makes it his mission to harass his host and show how superior he is.”

“Is he on television a lot?” Jasrien pulled his legs up under him on the couch, looking to the other end where Jeanette was similarly curled up.

Jeanette grunted. “He is these days. Things are getting ugly. They’ve been getting ugly for a while now. The CDM is an ugly part of all the ugliness.”

Jasrien mentally recapped everything the man had said, trying to file it all away. It was fascinating, mortal politics. Angels never really cared what humans were up to so long as it was in God’s Plan; Jasrien was rather having fun being in the middle of all the nitty gritty mundanity. It was so wonderfully boring, but everyone thought it was so important. It just reaffirmed how silly Jasrien found humans. “So they want to, what, undo magic? Just wipe it out?”

Jeanette shrugged. “They support inhibitors, a type of brand or tattoo witches can get that neuters their magical abilities. Powers himself has had that done. Other than that, they’re like any other lobbying group. They push for legislation and hold demonstrations and all that jazz.”

“And what do you think?”

Jeanette faltered, eyes darting over Jasrien’s shoulder for just a moment to the hallway behind him. “I… well. I don’t love witches. I understand what Powers means, about the unfairness of it all. They’re so powerful, and we’re not.” Jeanette drummed her fingers on the table, eyes darting from Jasrien to behind him. “I run a clinic, and every day I have people come in who I could truly save if I only had a little spark of magic. But I don’t, and I can’t help. But then I see witches out there living their lives without a thought of using that power for something good or charitable and it just eats me alive. I can only think of two witches in the world I truly like; there was an old building on the other side of the city that collapsed a while ago, and two witches went into the ruins in the dead of night to pull people out of the wreckage. I don’t even know their names, but those people are heroes. They’re who all witches should aspire to emulate. But if they’re just selfish… I don’t agree with Lucas Powers. But I get his points.”

“How incredibly nuanced of you,” Jasrien deadpanned. He drank the last of his wine before rising and putting away his glass. “Why do you keep looking in the hallway?”

Jeanette froze. Her face seemed to want to blush and blanche simultaneously, giving her an overall queasy expression. “I’m…” She fell silent under Jasrien’s gaze, rapidly remembering that he as an angel. Jeanette didn’t know the consequences of lying to an Angel of God, but she doubted it was a one way ticket to Heaven. “Davie’s best friend is a witch,” Jeanette admitted softly. “And I don’t know how to feel about it.” The angel remained impassive, simply watching. “I don’t like it. I don’t have a reason to not like it, and I’m constantly trying to become more okay with it. But that’s the thing about prejudice, isn’t it? It isn’t logical. It just sits on your soul. I hate it,” Jeanette said quickly, looking into Jasrien’s blank green eyes. “It’s one of the few things I hate about myself. I hate knowing that I have this dislike of a child that I’ve never met. But even more than that, I hate knowing that I could interact with that witch so normally, I could hide it so well and we would both be fooled into thinking that I’ve never mistrusted a witch in my life. That I’ve never held who they are against them. But I have. And I don’t know how to get better.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Jasrien’s voice was low.

“I think I want forgiveness.” It came out haltingly, slowly but surely, and once it was said Jeanette felt as if a huge weight had been taken off of her heart and hung by a thread above her soul.

Jasrien turned. “I can’t give you that.” He regarded Jeanette out of the corner of his eye as her face fell. “You have to find forgiveness in yourself. You have to recognize that which is twisted and wrong and fight it yourself. Even the best of friends can’t fight your own internal battles. But we can help.”

Jeanette looked up, still not smiling. “Are you suggesting you’re one of my best friends?”

“I’m an angel,” Jasrien said. That doesn’t make me everybody’s friend. But I am the angel Jasrien, so yes, I think I am one of your friends. And if you have the opportunity to make an angel your best friend… seize it.”

“Noted,” Jeanette conceded. “Will you visit me, if I get to Heaven?”

“Perhaps.” Jasrien smiled, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I cannot see the same Heaven virtuous souls and spirits arrive into. It is separate from us angels and accessible to a select few. But I will try.”


	15. Fear Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kalagis, Safriel, and Dezique are prospecting in the mortal world.

Dezique hated the mortal world. They were all so boring. And it was dirty! Dirty in new and creative ways. Greenery was no longer permitted, it seemed, except in explicitly delegated space. Forests were being leveled at alarming rates, paving the way for pavement and construction and the creation of monuments to arrogance. Dezique thought of the birds of the forests, of the worms. They would die. There would be death on an incredible scale, once the scale was focused, and no one seemed to care. Humans sought to expand. Which made sense, when Dezique considered it, seeing as how they bred even faster than they imperialized and subjugated their earth. It was alarming and pitiful and made Dezique sick. There was no appreciation for life, only shortsightedness.

Dezique sat on the church’s stairs, playing with a blade of grass as he watched the clouds go by. Kalagis had ordered him to stay outside while she and Safriel went into the church proper. It made sense, the angel supposed; Kalagis and Safriel had much more experience dealing with humans. So Dezique was to wait. It was hot, wherever they were. The sun was hanging heavy in the sky even though it was only spring. Another consequence of human carelessness. Angels could taste the air pollution on their tongues and feel it like a oily, gritty blanket on their skin. But just as he felt the soiled atmosphere, Dezique was aware of the thrum of the earth beneath his feet. The church sang with it, the bricks fortified with the frequency of a hundred souls, each devoted and faithful. There were lives here. People were born here and died here, and people changed here. And it could be felt by those who only stopped to reach out to that energy. Some mortals, Dezique knew, called it magic. There were people who could use that power, witches that lived and manipulated all that energy begotten from living. It was not a novelty to angels, like it was to those mortals. Witches used that power, angels were that power. They were the masters of and beings born of God’s grace and love and wrath, the ties that bound the world together.

So Dezique closed his eyes and reached out. His body faded, becoming that energy that comprised the world as he became Divine. He felt the ants move through the earth. He felt the way the dirt itself slowly shifted and moved against itself as Earth hurtled through space. He could hear the heartbeats of the humans in the church. He felt the way power swirled around and through a few of their souls; those were witches. Dezique felt and Knew the power of the preacher’s words, just as he felt and Knew the most gentle caresses of Kalagis’ and Safriel’s presence and power against his own. They were disguised as mortals, with their wings hidden and power dampened. But they were there.

Dezique felt the movement long before the doors were thrown open and two women exited the church. They were old friends, the pair, happy to talk to one another again. Both had weights upon their souls though; they seemed dampened. One woman by something far off, the other by something much more local. It was the same feeling that Dezique had noticed when he and the other angels had swept through the town earlier. Something here was rotting the people. Dezique danced past the pair through light into the church, passing around and through people as he chased Kalagis and Safriel’s energies down. If there was one thing Dezique truly loved about this form, it was the lack of a body. It was just as Heaven is, just as things should be. He was just light and thought and feeling, untouchable to the world.

“Pastor Wayne? May we speak to you for a moment?” Safriel’s voice was calm, friendly. He was already smiling, and managed to smile even wider as the human agreed. “Thank you sir,” Safriel said, walking with Kalagis into the pastor’s office.

Pastor Wayne sat down slowly; his body seemed to dislike any form of posture change. When he spoke, his voice creaked with age. “How can I help you two today?”

“We understand there have been murders lately,” Kalagis said. She folded her arms, shifting her weight slightly. She stiffened for a moment as Dezique’s energy tapped against hers, cutting her eyes to Safriel as Dezique tapped him too. “We are sent to help,” Kalagis said.

“Are you police?”

Safriel shook his head. “No sir. We are not.”

Pastor Wayne frowned. “Private investigators then? You aren’t federal, are you?”

“No.” Safriel smiled, this time softly. “We are from a higher authority.”

“I’m sorry? I…” Something crossed Wayne’s mind, some tiny fleeting thought that stopped him in his tracks. Safriel saw it and nodded. This was how it frequently went. “No.” The man’s voice broke, panic and awe shaking his hands and wetting his eyes.

“Do not be afraid,” Safriel said gently. It was quiet like a caress and cut into the human with the power of a thunderbolt. Any doubts were vanquished when Safriel hummed and flexed his arms, casting the shadow of his wings across the room.“We are here to save.”

Hand clutching his heart, the preacher looked to the angels with reverence. “How can I help you? What must I do?”

“Open yourself,” Safriel asked. It was a demand, but he didn’t phrase it as such. Safriel spoke with the easy confidence of someone who knew that his every command would be obeyed, and he carried himself in such a way that people enjoyed being commanded by him. It was his gift. Watching it, it made Kalagis uneasy. It reminded her of the human tale of the Piper. She watched as Safriel took the man’s knowledge, took everything he could give to the angels. She watched the man slump in his chair.

“Dezique, I really wish you would follow orders and not startle us like that,” Kalagis complained. “You know we cannot feel you when were are in this form and you are Divine.

Coalescing and filtering back into view, Dezique at least looked abashed at Kalagis’ reprimand. “My apologies, Lieutenant. For what it is worth, I have something to report.”

“And?”

“Whatever it is that haunts this town, it has seeped into the souls of the people.”

“Unsurprising,” Safriel tutted, walking to the door. “This reeks of Simocian.”

“Why would he be here though?” Kalagis frowned, shifting her weight again. Dezique didn’t stare. It would be impolite, and the Lieutenant demanded and deserved respect.

“Something here must have called him,” Safriel mused. “Some source of power or…”

“Or if Vincintanious is near,” Kalagis finished.

“The fallen one?”

Safriel nodded. “Simocian and Vincintanious would cross the stars to find one another. There is a very real chance that he is nearby.”

“Above and below,” Dezique swore. “This was not part of the plan.”

“Plans change,” Kalagis said, finally dropping out of her mortal disguise. “We should send word to On High and ask if they can provide us with any information. I do not want to walk into a fight for which we are dramatically unprepared.”

Dezique frowned, unfurling his own wings. “Surely, we could defeat Simocian and Vincintanious?”

“We can defeat Simocian without too much difficulty,” Safriel said. “Vincintanious…” the angel’s face grew drawn, reflective. He held some degree of shame, Dezique realized. “Vincintanious is not to be underestimated. The three of us would be nearly evenly matched against him.”

“If we fought the two of them together, we would lose,” Kalagis stated firmly. “There are no questions about it.”

“Could we call for reinforcements?”

“I already said we were going to send word to On High.” Kalagis shifted form, flitting out of the church and into the skies above. The other angels followed suit, falling in line behind her.

“What is Vincintanious like,” Dezique asked, pushing his question against the presence of the other two angels. If there was to be a fight, Dezique wanted to be at least armed with knowledge. And the other two angels obviously knew more than he did.

“Cold,” Kalagis answered.

“Sad,” Safriel responded at the same time.

“He was the premier Angel of Winter, the harbinger of the first frost.”

“He followed Simocian to Hell after three human years of serial killings.”

“Archangel Azrael personally Felled him.”

“With  _ Solasfini _ ?”

“With what else?”

Dezique cursed, watching as his words spiraled away.

“Here,” Safriel said, falling back to the earth and retaking a physical form. He had selected a small clearing for the angels, safely away from town but close enough the angels could feel the hum of human life. “This will do for now.”

The trio had been following energy signatures for several days now, with this town being their most recent stop. There was a certain power to these signatures, something inky and bubbling, that felt wrong. Something that indicated Simocian. The problem was, there were too many signatures for them to have all been created by the demon. Something was wrong. In any case, there was some sort of demon to be found here. And the angels would do as angels did. Kalagis drew her feet under her and began to focus, the air beginning to haze around her. Safriel summoned his lyre, disinterestedly plucking a few of the highest strings into something akin to a melody. It was annoying, Kalagis thought with endearment, how even when he wasn’t trying Safriel was so effortlessly talented.

Dezique, unsurprisingly, broke the silence. “Kalagis? May I be bold?”

The meditating angel turned from her position slowly, looking at the young angel with unsettling silver eyes. “Of course.”

“What is our plan? What are our ambitions? To where do we go next?”

Kalagis was quiet for a minute, looking at Dezique. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was looking through him, looking at him across time and space. Kalagis’ scrying eyes were without pupil, iris, or sclera-- looking into them was uniquely uncomfortable. Images seemed to move within the flat silver; Dezique wondered if they were minute reflections of the same visions clairvoyants perceived. Safriel carefully did not meet Kalagis’ eyes, something Dezique had noticed early on. He wondered if there was a danger in them. Dezique didn’t doubt it; he reasoned that an immortal lifetime could be spent trying to pry secrets from eyes that saw the future, and that madness would be earned in equal measure for all those who recklessly attempted to jump the paths of time. Though he trusted Kalagis, though she posed no immediate danger to him, Dezique let out a sigh of relief when her eyes returned to their normal blue. Her hair fell back to her shoulders, and the shimmer in the air dissipated.

“We stay here,” Kalagis said. “We track the demon that hides here and deliver judgement upon it.”

Safriel frowned, casting away his lyre. “And then?”

“I do not know,” Kalagis admitted. “The future always gets harder to read the further out I try to See. Our current future is especially murky.”

Dezique’s fingers nervously played off of one another. He was still unused to Kalagis and her gift, and he especially did not like her current tone. It sounded foreboding. “What does that mean?”

Kalagis merely shrugged. “Usually, it means that there are many paths that the future might take from this moment. I know that tonight we rest. Then, we go into town. From there everything is murky. Sometimes, we are alone in our quest. Sometimes, we are with locals. Sometimes we go away empty handed.”

Safriel raised a hand, fingers wiggling in the air. “Is Simocian in our future?”

Again, a shrug. “I saw a figure that could represent many things. Any sort of enemy or demon. A particularly unfriendly yet not hostile stranger. Who can tell?”

“Anything else of note?”

Kalagis smiled, looking at Safriel. It was a fond smile, one that could be shared by many but only truly belonged between two friends who had known and trusted each other for a very long time. “I saw vision of a web,” Kalagis said. “Perhaps it is better described as a chain, though it was a chain with many branches. A linkage of people, person to person. Jasrien was in it.”

Safriel sat up straight for that. He smiled too, but his eyes flashed with something a little sadder, something a little more desperate. A little more lonely, even when he was surrounded by people. “Is he here?” His voice was so even, Kalagis noted. She doubted Dezique had even detected the waver.

“No.” Kalagis said it like it was an apology. “But I thought you would like to know. Even when distances seem to be astronomical, those we love always seem to find ways to be near to us.”

Dezique smiled with the other two angels, pulling his feet up under him. It was no secret that when Jasrien returned, he would no longer serve with Kalagis and Safriel. Dezique was temporary. It was his fate, to be a helper to all. Not an angel of muse like Safriel, not an angel of war like Kalagis, nor an angel of nature like Jasrien. Dezique was temporary for eternity. And he just had to find peace with that.


	16. "...but have done your best"

Jasrien was dumbfounded. “You want me to what?”

“It’s really not that bad.”

“Seriously, Jeanette?”

Jeanette crossed her arms, slowly getting annoyed with the stubborn angel. In all fairness, it was a little ridiculous. But all of this was a little ridiculous, when she really sat down and thought about it. Jeanette tried not to think too hard about any of this. It made her head hurt. “Listen, you want to squat in my house, this is how it’s gotta go down.”

“I am an angel! It’s not squatting! You should be honored to host me!”

“I’d be a little more honored if you were a little more agreeable.”

Jasrien’s scuffed his foot against the floor, pouting. Jeanette hadn’t seen that particular move since Davie was nine. “We used to smite entire cities for this sort of thing.”

“Look.” Jeanette’s hands splayed in front of her, a little bit of a wild look creeping into her eyes. “My landlord is a super traditional, almost crazy, woman. I’ve always been on her good side. And it’s always worked out well. But she’s just not too keen on you hanging around my house for no apparent reason.”

Jasrien shook his head. “Fake dating is not the solution.”

“It’s the best solution we’ve got right now. She’s already making comments when I go downstairs to do laundry. She’ll get nosy. Real nosy. And I don’t think you want too many people nosing into your life right now, do you?”

Jasrien crossed his arms, pouting slightly. “And you said she thinks I’m a drug addict?”

“She thinks you’re trying to use me to get to prescription medication,” Jeanette corrected. “She doesn’t know if you’re an addict or not.”

“Not,” Jasrien interjected.

“Yes, I know. But she doesn’t. And she’ll call the cops.”

“I can protect us from the police.” The angel said it knowingly, as if he had some secret up his sleeve that the NCPD would never see coming. Granted, Jasrien did. But that wasn’t the point.

“It could be bad for my practice if I get investigated,” Jeanette pointed out. “The wrong rumor at the wrong time could tank me.”

“Fair.” Jasrien’s mouth quirked. “And it’s the best solution?”

“Just pretend to be my new boy-toy and try to be a positive male role model for Davie.”

Jasrien held up a finger, silencing her. “Not technically male.” The angel paused, considering. “Well, I suppose I am in this body.” Jasrien nodded, then daintily waved his hand. “Yes, I can be a good role model, continue.”

Jeanette buried her eyes in the heels of her hands. “Why are you like this?” 

Jasrien smirked. “Simply divine?”

“Insufferable.”

“You keep me around,” Jasrien pointed out.

“I’m not convinced you haven’t bewitched me into keeping you here against my will.”

“I’ve definitely bewitched you, but that’s just my raw magnetism and charm.” Jasrien grinned. “Look at us bantering! We’re practically fake dating like the pros.”

“God help us.”

Jasrien rolled his eyes. “I’m sure God has better things to do.”

 

The biggest hitch in this plan, this plan with many, many hitches, was what to do with Davie. What to tell the boy and when to tell him. Jasrien was in favor of full disclosure.

“It’ll be like a, oh. What’s the phrase you use? A bandage?”

“Like ripping off a band-aid,” Jeanette said. Jasrien’s relationship with human idioms and expressions baffled her. He seemed to have an extensive knowledge about phrases, casually referencing them in instances like this, but somehow he seemed to have missed learning all of the actual words. Jeanette half suspected that he knew them but was feigning ignorance for his own amusement, but that was neither here nor there.

“I can do a whole revelation,” Jasrien said. He sounded just a little too enthusiastic. “There’s an entire protocol I can follow in my disclosure. It’s absolutely brilliant.”

“I just don’t think we should tell him everything all at once,” Jeanette protested. “You’re an angel, you’re a fallen angel, you’re here to protect us from some great, mysterious evil that you sensed for like half a second once, and oh, by the way, you’re dating his mother.”

“Fake dating,” Jasrien tutted. “You are not Safriel.”

“Yeah yeah, your one true love, he who owns your heart, I’ve heard it all.”

“It is important to me that you know how much he matters to me. He is the other half of ourselves, interwoven and overlapping in everything we are.”

“Just say you’re hopelessly in love and get on with it,” Jeanette sighed.

Jasrien grinned. “It would certainly save time, wouldn’t it?” Jasrien crossed his legs under him, fishing around in a pocket for a stick of chewing gum. Jeanette had introduced him to the little minty sticks, and he was instantly hooked. “I like that you talk to me like this,” Jasrien admitted as he popped a piece in his mouth. “Usually when I talk to humans, I’m a little more feathered. There’s halo light and a monologue and it’s just all so… ceremonious. And no one ever talks to me, like proper talking. Humans are falling all over themselves to help an Angel of the Lord, not that they’ll even remember it. It’s so respectful and flattering but it’s really not authentic-- at least, it’s not how humans really talk to each other. You tease me. Only Kalagis and Safriel have ever really done that before. And I like it. You tell me when I’m going off on tangents, and when I need to re-center myself. I just… thank you. If I have to be human, thank you for making me human.”

Jeanette nodded a little, not saying anything. Jasrien didn’t seem like the type of person to just share personal things like that; Jasrien was the type to talk about a lot of mundane things, he could talk so much that a casual listener would be misled to think that there was something true and personal in the mass of words because he simply said so much. But Jeanette recognized this for a real truth, what the angel really felt. It was direct-- still verbose, but that was just Jasrien. And it filled Jeanette with a sense of pride, a warm little feeling of happiness, that the angel felt that he could say this to her.

“Thank you for thanking me,” she said at last. “I’m just glad I got to be the one you met.”

A look passed over Jasrien’s face as he blew and popped a little bubble within his mouth. “We’ll see,” was all he said.

 

When Davie got home from school that day, he immediately had been sat down on the couch. His feet idly tapped his backpack as his gaze darted back and forth between his mother and Jason. Jason had been living with them for a little while now; he was one of Jeanette’s grandma’s siblings’ children, some cousin to some degree that his mom had apparently grown up with back home. That story hadn’t entirely sold Davie, and the teenager had a suspicion that he was about to get the truth.

“Okay, don’t freak out,” Jason began, and Davie snorted.

“That’s not a reassuring start.” Davie leaned back, eyeing Jason warily.

“I’ve gotta say it.” Jasrien shrugged, looking at Jeanette out of the corner of his eye. She just pinched the bridge of her nose. “Really, it’s the rules. Anyways. Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“Bad news,” Davie said instantly. No hesitation or consideration.

“Well it was essentially a trick question. All this news is kinda up to your interpretation. We’ve been lying to you,” Jasrien indicated to himself and Jeanette, “and we’re going to tell you the truth because circumstances demand that your mother and I pretend to date.”

Davie blinked slowly, looking to his mother for something that made sense. “Please tell me the family thing was one of the lies.”

“Yes! I-- Jeanette, why are you getting wine?”

“Because this is going terribly,” Jeanette said from the kitchen.

Jasrien frowned before turning back to Davie. “My real name is Jasrien, not Jason. I am not related to you in any way, which probably reassures you. I am a friend of your mother’s, we met at her work. I’m an Adalian working-- what?” Davie and Jeanette were giving him blank looks. Jeanette had officially forgone the wine glass. “Witches.” Jasrien dug the heels of his palms into his eyes as he groaned. “Above and below, they’re called witches now. Why did they have to go and change their name?”

“Well, that was the fastest I’ve ever seen a lie unravel,” Davie said cheerfully. “Can we try the actual truth now?”

Jasrien nodded. “Fine.” Across the room Jeanette paled, taking a long sip of wine. It really concerned Jasrien how she drank straight from the bottle. “I’m an angel. A real deal Heaven-sent Angel of the Lord. Do not be afraid.”

“And I’m the Queen of Sheba.” Davie looked to his mother again, once again looking for some sort of grounding point of normal. This time, Jeanette did not reaffirm the status quo. Davie felt as if he was falling, just a little, as she nodded.

“He’s an angel,” Jeanette said quietly. “He saved my life with some sort of… something.”

“I’m on Earth to complete some tasks,” Jasrien said, “and your mom has agreed to host me while I get things done to get back to Heaven. The fabricated relationship is part of my cover while I’m here.”

“Fuck.”

“Davie,” Jeanette chided. “Not in front of me.”

“Freak,” Davie tried again. That earned him a curt nod.

“This is, of course, not something you need to tell people. The fewer people who know of my little feathery secret the better.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Davie reminded Jeanette a little of an old computer, slowly wheezing along as it processed information line by line. She could almost hear the dial up tone as Davie re-evaluated his worldview. “And I heard what you said, but you two are fake dating… why, exactly?”

“Miss Mel,” Jeanette said as Davie reached the same conclusion.

“Nosy old woman.” Davie shook his head. “For the record, I think this plan is terrible and absolutely not the only solution.”

“Agreed,” Jasrien cheerfully offered.

“I have, like, a million questions.

“Expected.”

“First and foremost, where are your wings?”

“Ah.” Jasrien sheepishly grinned. “I have to be in a human body for the duration of my trials. No wings, no halo, no power.”

“You used some sort of power against the guy with the knife,” Jeanette objected.

“That shouldn’t have happened.” Jasrien’s face was serious, concern touching the corners of his eyes, cutting little wrinkles. “I shouldn’t have access to the Lexvoca in this form, much less remember it. Something weird is going on, either with me or with the world.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

Jasrien looked at Davie, carefully trying to see everything he had inherited from Jeanette. The shape of his eyes, his bone structure. The way he unconsciously leaned forward to listen, the body always betraying both him and his mother when they feigned disinterest. He was earnest. Earnest wrapped in layers of realist and sarcastic and teenage angst, but earnest nonetheless. “I don’t know why I’m here,” Jasrien answered honestly. “I think that’s the point. I can be here and speak as you do, swear as you humans do, breathe and feel and think as you do, and it’s entirely what I make of it. I just have to make it good so I can leave.”

“Better than you found it?” Jasrien’s brows furrowed, confused. Davie was mildly disappointed, he had always assumed that angels knew everything. Davie hadn’t met a lot of angels, so it was possible that Jasrien was just a bad example, but Davie was quickly becoming rather disappointed with angels as a whole. “It’s a quote from the dude who invented Boy Scouts. Leave the world better than you found it, so when you die it was worth it or whatever.”

“Yeah,” Jasrien said after a moment of consideration. “It’s like that.”

“Cool.” Davie nodded, feet anxiously tapping against his backpack again. “I’m going to go to my room and think about stuff. Please don’t bother me until I’ve adjusted to the new normal. Should only take about a decade or so. And for the record, this fake dating plan sucks.” With that, Davie bolted.

“Well,” Jasrien said after a brief pause. “I think that went relatively well, all things considered. Jeanette said nothing; the wine bottle commanded her attention.


	17. The Glass Ballroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jasrien, Jeanette, and Davie go to a fancy party and make some friends.

Jasrien didn’t sleep well. It wasn’t because he was uncomfortable on the couch, or that he was too hot or too cold. On the contrary-- Jeanette’s couch was dangerously comfy, and Jasrien had lost countless hours napping on it. It wasn’t that he was dreaming-- which he was, and that was new and not entirely pleasant-- and it wasn’t that he was particularly stressed about anything. He just felt wrong. His body was starting to catch up with his mind, and his mind wasn’t big enough for his thoughts. Since falling to Earth, Jasrien had assumed the shame of being cast out of Heaven was the punishment God bestowed upon angels. Having to learn a whole new world that was so alien to him was tedious and unpleasant, so Jasrien had assumed that this was his lesson, his penance. His good deeds would be his repayment, and then he would return no worse for wear. But as he tried to sleep on Jeanette’s couch, he realized he was wrong.

God couldn’t be felt here. Jasrien felt very small and very alone in the night, despite the sleeping humans just down the hall. His skin felt too tight. His breath came too quick. It kept picking up, getting faster and faster. He felt wrong. His body was wrong. It ate at him, he wanted… wanted… Jasrien needed to escape himself. To fall back into something bigger and more beautiful. He missed Safriel. He missed Safriel more than anything, like a flower would miss the sun. He missed feeling like he had power. Here, Jasrien was just another human. The Lexvoca wasn’t at his disposal; Jasrien had spent over an hour trying to use more of the angelic power. Nothing worked, and the more he tried the harder it got to remember the words. Jasrien suspected that he would forget his entire language soon. But Jasrien knew that he would never forget this. He would never forget the hurt of living as something he wasn’t.

And then there was this party that Jeanette was going to tomorrow. Well, today. It was after midnight, that magically arbitrary number humans had imposed to make sense of the sky. Jasrien didn’t really want to go, but he felt he obliged to for several reasons. One: it was in line with this ridiculous scheme Jeanette had pulled him into. Two: it was Jasrien’s understanding that gatherings like this frequently had alcohol, and Jasrien was eager to get this body drunk. Three: something would go horribly wrong if Jasrien didn’t go. He could feel it, he Knew it. There were a lot of things that he Knew; Jasrien’s mind had been working overtime. He had to be there. So Jasrien idly played with the corner of his blanket as he let the hours count down. It wouldn’t be too long now.

Jasrien was still awake when Jeanette woke up. She took one look at the angel and started making an extra large pot of coffee-- he looked like death.

“You look like death,” Jeanette said, making sure he was aware. Situational self-awareness was always a good starting point, she reasoned. “You sleeping well?”

Jasrien rolled his eyes and smiled. “It’s nothing; I’m fine. I’m just fighting off a little bit of earth lag. All this heartbeat nonsense is tiring.”

“If you say so.” Jeanette turned to the toaster, fishing out a bagel a moment before disaster. It looked inedible to Jasrien, but to be fair, so did a lot of human food. It tended to upset his stomach. “Gala tonight,” Jeanette said, as if Jasrien could have somehow forgotten. That wasn’t fair to her, Jasrien thought, reconsidering. She was trying to be polite, make polite conversation. Jasrien was just tired. Grumpy. Frumpy.

“I’m looking forward to it.” No he wasn’t.

Jeanette nodded slightly, pulling out a mug for Jasrien and pouring him a cup of coffee. “Did you get your outfit taken care of?”

Jasrien took a long sip of his coffee. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I’ll be properly dressed, don’t worry. I just need to get some dress shoes and it’ll be ready.”

“It had better be.” Jeanette played with a strand of hair, pouring herself some coffee. “I need tonight to go right. I’m being honored for special services to the community, and if I look the part and am gracious and can convince people what I’m doing matters…”

“It can help push off Percival.” Jasrien nodded. She had been worrying out loud for the past two days. This really mattered to her. Another reason he was going. For better or worse, Jeanette mattered to Jasrien.

The day went by slowly. Davie spent most of it flipping back and forth between whether or not he wanted to go. Around lunch he disappeared into his room, coming out only fifteen minutes before time to go. He was fully dressed for the gala.

“Made up your mind?”

Davie hummed an affirmation, pulling slightly at his collar. “Yep. Shouldn’t you be dressed?”

“I am dressed,” Jasrien said, looking down at his dress shoes. They were quite nice, with soft brown leather.

“Where did you get those?”

“Goodwill,” Jasrien said, clicking the heels together. “They just happened to have my size. What a coincidence.”

“But like,” Davie waved a hand at Jasrien. “Shouldn’t you be… dressed up?” Davie didn’t say anything else, his attention being entirely stolen by Jeanette, who had emerged from her room. She was in a soft pink gown, with long white gloves that hit her elbows. Her waist jingled as she walked; from the delicate chain around her waist hung pendants representing the phases of the moon, matching to the silvery white lunar mask she held in her hands.

“Mom,” Davie said revenantly, “you look…”

“You look lovely,” Jasrien said, taking one of Jeanette’s hands and bowing to it.

Jeanette looked like she was ready to smite Jasrien. “You look like you’re not ready at all.”

“Have a little faith,” Jasrien said with a wink. And then they were off to the gala.

 

The New Chora Humanities Gala was a biennial event that the city loved to talk about. Newspaper coverage had started two weeks ago, and nightly news would unpack it for the next three days. Everyone who mattered in New Chora would be there, and any new faces would be spectacularly scrutinized. It was a whole to-do, and Jeanette had spent years resenting its ostentatious display. Granted, Jeanette had never been invited before. This year, perhaps, she would be a little more charitable. If she could get her head together. Jeanette was strangely calm, given that this evening could shape her career for the foreseeable future. Maybe the unforeseeable future. Given that Jasrien was still in jeans and a t-shirt, and the car was pulling up to the venue.

Jeanette turned back in her seat, eyeing Jasrien. “You’re about to pull some angel bullshit, aren’t you?” Jasrien just smiled. She exited the car, helped Davie out, and resisted the urge to slap Jasrien as the car pulled away and revealed the angel.

He was still wearing that annoying smile, but in the fifteen seconds it took Jeanette and Davie to get out of the car he had managed to procure a suit, put on the suit, and style his hair. And damn, if he didn’t look good.

Jasrien adjusted his tie. “How do I look?”

“Angel bullshit,” Jeanette muttered. “No one should look that good in a green suit.”

“No one else does,” Jasrien said, offering his arm. “Shall we?”

Jeanette put her mask to her face, securing the ribbon. “Let’s go.”

The doors opened for them, and Jasrien was at once uncomfortable. For one, every other man in the room was wearing black. Jasrien stuck out, and he had been around long enough to know that sticking out wasn’t always a good thing. The next problem was a little more minute; Jasrien didn’t have a mask at the moment. He was on display in a room of obscurity. That could be remedied, given time and an opportunity. Jeanette, on the other hand, seemed to be fine. She moved like a queen, with her head high and eyes forward.

“People are looking at us,” Davie sid quietly, leaning into his mother’s side.

“They’re looking at him,” Jeanette responded, tilting her head to Jasrien.

“They’re looking at us.” Jasrien was mostly confident he and Davie were right. “Because we look amazing.”

Jeanette snorted, turning to comment on Jasrien’s humility, only to be interrupted by Davie, tugging on her sleeve. “I need to go to somewhere obvious.”

“What?”

Davie made a quick 360, scoping out the room best he could. “That drink table. It’ll work.”

“What,” Jeanette repeated, at the same time Jasrien perked up.

“Drinks? Alcohol?”

Davie barely turned his head, already pushing through the crowd. “Probably!”

“Jeanette, quick medical question.” Jasrien took Jeanette by the hand, dragging her after Davie. “How many drinks do I need to get trashed in this body?”

Jeanette’s grip got very firm on Jasrien’s wrist. “You are absolutely not getting drunk.”

Jasrien smiled, eyeing waiters carrying various glasses of various liquids. “Sure.”

Jeanette massaged her temple, as best as she could around the mask, and resolved to just try to keep track of the angel best she could. “Davie, why are you lurking by the table? I need to meet up with some people before dinner and the official ceremony.”

Davie held up a finger for just a minute, bidding Jeanette to wait, before he reconsidered the action and stuffed his hand in his pocket. “They’ll just be a minute,” he said, furiously texting. “Just a minute. Actually…” Davie pivoted, and Jeanette and Jasrien followed suit, watching as the crowd seemed to part for a very small woman. Not a small woman, just a child, a teenager with long hair and a shawl. Beside Jasrien, Jeanette bit her lip and grew very still.

“Davie! It’s good to see you.” Jeanette and Jasrien have to assume that was what was said-- Davie pulled the teen into a tight hug before the sentence was all the way out.

Jasrien leaned in to Jeanette’s ear. “This is that friend Davie’s always going on about?” Jeanette offered the tiniest nod, a smile seeming stuck to her suddenly pale face.

“I’m glad you’re finally meeting them,” Davie said over a head of hair. Davie lowered his gaze, just a little, as if he was challenging his mother or Jasrien.

“My name’s Charlie, and it’s a pleasure,” Charlie said, breaking away from Davie. They bowed slightly to Jeanette and Jasrien, which was a little funny, but Charlie seemed to be a little funny. They were wearing a man’s button down and dress pants, but instead of a jacket they had opted for a lengthy shawl. A plain white mask completed the look.

“What’s your name again?” Jasrien leaned in, locking eyes with the teen through their mask.

“Charlie Sandoute.” As they spoke, a memory popped into Jeanette’s head: Davie was describing Charlie’s manner of speech-- quiet, as if they were afraid you would hear what they were telling you. Jasrien didn’t say anything, he just straightened, raised an eyebrow, and imperceptibly shook his head at Jeanette.

“Where’s your party?” Charlie blinked and jerked slightly, apparently not expecting Jeanette to talk to them.

“My what?”

Jasrien felt he should clarify. “Who are you with?”

“My family,” Charlie said, taking a step back. A hand fell to their shoulder, and Jasrien found himself eye to eye with some lanky ginger in a suit. Jasrien breathed in, looking him in the eyes too.

“I’m Figaro.” What Figaro didn’t say, but what Jasrien Knew, was that Figaro was a familiar. And where there was a familiar…”

“And I am Dappled Zenthella Sandoute.” Jasrien turned to watch Jeanette share the world’s most awkward handshake with another woman. Zenthella was tall, that was the first thing he noticed about her. Her mask hung around her neck, already abandoned. Jasrien didn’t blame her. If he had eyes like that, he wouldn’t want to hide them.

“You’re Mrs. Sandoute? Charlie’s mother?”

Zenthella narrowed her eyes. Jasrien worried a fingernail; something was off in Jeanette’s tone. “Ms. Sandoute, and yes, I-- I’m their guardian. You’re Ms. Pearson?”

“Dr. Pearson.”

Zenthella apologetically smiled. “Doctor,” she amended. “Is that why you’re here, for your medical service?”

“That’s what they tell me.” Jeanette realized then that the normally incessant background noise of teenagers had been quiet for a very very long time. Davie and Charlie had disappeared. “Where did…”

“Somewhere over there,” Zenthella said, waving towards the crowd. I’m sure they’re not getting into any trouble.” She sounded so sincere.

“You’re sure?”

Zenthella scoffed. “Charlie’s idea of a wild night is eating two pints of ice cream during a movie instead of one. They get worried about things like shrinkage in the laundry. They’re not going off and getting into any trouble.”

“Your child maybe, but mine may lead them astray.”

Zenthella didn’t say anything, she just looked at Jeanette for a moment. It felt like eternity, to be under her gaze, because Dappled Zenthella Sandoute was a witch. A powerful witch, from an old and powerful witch family. Jeanette had googled them, the Sandoutes, just so see who Davie was friends with. It had certainly been enlightening. But to be so close to Zenthella now, Jeanette imagined she could feel the power pulsing off of the other woman like a drum, like a heartbeat. Jasrien definitely could feel it, even if he didn’t register it in his conscious thought. Jeanette didn’t like it. Zenthella made her uncomfortable, even if she couldn’t pin down why.

“I’m sure Davie and Charlie will be fine,” Jasrien said, breaking the tension. He looked at Jeanette for a moment as if she had lost her mind. “I’ll go meander after them, especially if there’s more of this.” He jauntily waved an empty champagne glass in Jeanette’s face before disappearing-- Jeanette hadn’t even see him pick up the drink, much less down it. Shit. Tonight just kept getting better and better.

“I’ll follow,” offered Figaro, and then Zenthella and Jeanette were alone.

“Do you want to find a table?” Zenthella looked around, picking out an appropriate number of seats.

Jeanette felt her head bobbing in agreement, even though that sounded absolutely dreadful. “Sure,” her mouth said. She found herself following Zenthella mindlessly, as if she were flotsam caught in Zenthella’s wake.

“So,” Jeanette said, eyes lingering unnecessarily long on the little menu that proclaimed the mediocre meal that was coming. For all the money in the room, the food was rather disappointing. “Davie tells me that you’ve been down south, doing some sort of family thing?”

“Something like that,” Zenthella said, filling a cup with water and taking a sip. “My mother wanted to do some refurbishing in the old family home.

“Lucrita?” The name came out before Jeanette could help herself, and Zenthella immediately reacted. It wasn’t much, granted, but the witch’s shoulders got stiff, her nostrils flared, and her eyes iced over. The tension faded quickly, her nose didn’t move, but the ice never completely left her eyes.

“You know my mother?” Watching Zenthella’s lips move, Jeanette desperately wished she could melt into her seat and escape the conversation. Jeanette could just admit that she looked the Sandoute family up. But that would be awkward. Too awkward.

“Of her,” Jeanette said, trying to sound casual. “Friend of a friend of a friend type thing.”

Zenthella’s stare could curdle milk. “Of course.”

“So.” Jeanette placed her menu down, needlessly smoothing the paper. “Are you excited for the dinner?”

“Not particularly,” Zenthella said with a sigh. “For all the money this thing costs, the food at events like these is rarely worth writing home about.”

“You’re not wrong on that,” Jeanette said, plucking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “So, what are you here for tonight?”

“Service,” Zenthella said dryly. “That was a joke,” she prompted, smiling to reassure Jeanette. “I helped people when the Kiger Building went down. Quick healing, debris cleanup, stuff like that. My friend Barley, Tempered Barley Willix, helped too, but he got to skip tonight on account of him being old and not wanting to come. I’m young and didn’t want to come, so you can see who got the short end of the stick.”

Jeanette swirled her glass. She remembered the reporting of the collapse that next morning. It hadn’t been that long ago at all.“Still, the Kiger collapse was a disaster. What you did was heroic.”

“What I did was my job,” Zenthella said with a shrug. “I’m a Senator to the Coventium America. That’s a very fancy title to mean that I run around the city and solve magic problems before they get too big.”

Jeanette frowned. “Was the Kiger collapse a magic problem?”

Zenthella opened her mouth to reply, only for Jasrien to cut her off by surprising Jeanette with a hug from behind.

“Jeanette! Found you!”

“We weren’t hiding,” Jeanette said, smelling the alcohol on Jasrien’s breath. “Jesus, how many drinks have you had already?”

“Four,” the angel giggled, spilling a little champagne out of glass number five. He had found a mask somewhere, though it was sloppily tied. “I had some of this, and then something dark, and then something I didn’t like at all, then some more of the other stuff, then this.”

Jeanette sent Zenthella a desperate look, only to see the witch struggling to hold in her laughter.

“No, no,” Zenthella said, hiding behind her hand. “Your friend needs you.”

“Sit down,” Jeanette said, all but pulling Jasrien into a chair. “You’ve had too much too fast, given your lack of tolerance.”

“I’m fine,” Jasrien insisted, waving his hands in front of his face. “Super fine! Hella fine, that’s what a lady said about me on the street once when she thought I couldn’t hear her, except I could so it wasn't a secret.”

“That’s nice,” Jeanette said as Zenthella actively bit her knuckles to keep from laughing. Any humor Jeanette may have found in the situation rapidly fell apart as she looked past Jeanette to the man in the white tuxedo, sauntering up to their table.

To his credit, Percival looked slightly better outside of his normal acid green suit-- all the better, seeing as how Jasrien would have put him to shame with his own green attire. Unfortunately, he didn’t lose the cough as easily as her terrible fashion sense, and he was coughing delicately into a handkerchief as he approached the table. “Miss Pearson,” he said warmly, reaching out to hug Jeanette. “I am ever so glad that you are here tonight.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Jeanette said tightly, trying not to scream as Percival’s hand lingered on her shoulder.

“As it turns out, I will be the one to give the speech this year immediately before the award ceremony. The original speaker called in sick this morning, sounded quite awful as the mayor tells it. So I got the call this morning. I do hope you will enjoy my speech, for it was a work of passion and frantic energy.” At that Percival laughed, even though he told no joke. Jeanette laughed too, though not for a second longer than was necessary.

“I’m sure it’ll be something.” Jeanette rolled her shoulders, glancing in fake apology as Percival removed his hand.

“Well, I will see you on the stage.” Percival moved to leave before turning on his heel back to the table. He held up a finger for a moment, as if he had something he wanted to say, before shaking his head and striding away.

“I detest him.” Jeanette took a deep breath as soon as he was gone, slowly letting it out. “Detest.”

“He seems-- are you alright?” Zenthella had turned to Jasrien, who was holding onto his now empty glass with a singular focus. His knuckles turned white for a moment, and Jeanette let out a cry of alarm a second before the glass shattered in his hands.

“Oh,” was all the angel managed to say. “Jeanette, I don’t feel so well.”

“You’re not even bleeding,” Zenthella said, examining Jasarien’s hands as she swept glass away from him..

“I’m really not feeling well,” Jasrien said, and his voice was a little strained. One hand went to his mouth, the other his stomach. Jeanette and Zenthella looked at each other and then the crowd, realizing that the seconds were precious.

“Figaro,” Zenthella said, and the man slinked out from behind her as if he had materialized at her command. “Get this man to a bathroom immediately. Urgent.” Figaro nodded, leading Jasrien by the arm before disappearing into the crowd.

“Fig may take him home,” Zenthella said, shaking her head. “That certainly came on fast, does he have some sort of condition?”

Jeanette had no idea. Every now and then she was struck by how little she knew about Jasrien. “Lightweights,” she said with a shrug and a forced laugh. “What can you do?”


	18. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jasrien is sick, and what cures what ails you like a bowl of soup?

This was officially the worst experience of Jasrien’s brief and immortal life.

Jasrien hated being sick. He hated it. Hated how his skin felt clammy, how his breath came short to his lungs. His stomach, above and below, how his stomach churned. And Jasrien had thought that it was all under control, right up until he almost threw up and passed out at the dinner table. When he had shattered the glass in his hand. Swaying. Then that familiar from earlier was there, holding him by the shoulders as they moved through space. It hadn’t helped the nausea; familiar magic had none on the nuance or subtleties of proper witch magic. It was rough and functional. Jasrien had just made it to the bathroom before his stomach finally gave out.

Vomiting was especially awful. Humans had not been designed well, Jasrien thought, if the only way to empty their stomachs in an emergency forced acid and bile against the tongue and teeth. If it left him shaking, unable to breathe, sweat percolating in his hair and tears welling up in the corners of his eyes as he helplessly retched and gagged and waited for it to all be over.

He was mortified, of course, but he was also confused. He hadn’t thought alcohol would affect him like this, yet here he was. Strung out on some couch after throwing up into a stranger’s toilet. Jeanette would give him hell; she had been right. She was frequently right. The familiar from the dinner, Figaro, had gotten him a cool towel to press against his forehead. That was nice. Figaro had walked him to the couch, rubbing small circles on Jasrien’s shoulders. A comforting gesture, but it made Jasrien pang. He wanted Safriel to be here. Needed Safriel. To hold him and comfort him and tell him it would be all right. Not some stranger approximating care.

“I’m heading back to the gala,” Figaro said, adjusting his suit. “You still look like shit, so I’m leaving you here.” Figaro looked at Jasrien and went off somewhere, returning with a plastic bucket that he sat beside Jasrien’s couch. “Get some rest, and we’ll be back for you once the dinner’s over.”

Jasrien propped himself on his elbows, eyeing the familiar. “You’re leaving me alone in your house?”

Figaro smirked, something wolfish and absolutely amused in his eyes. “I’m sure you know by now what Zen and I are. It’s in your best interest not to fiddle with anything while you’re here. Just rest.” And with that, the familiar was gone. And Jasrien was alone in a witch’s house.

Jasrien slept. There wasn’t much more he could do. Especially with the nausea swirling strong in his gut. It wasn’t exactly a deep sleep, however, and somewhere after an hour and a half he was rudely awakened by the sound of a slamming door across the hall. A man was shouting into a phone, and Jasrien listened as footsteps pounded down the stairs. Then, once again, all was quiet. Thoughts of Safriel bubbled to his consciousness, and for seconds at a time Jasrien felt as if he could see his love just outside the window. As if Safriel were just yards away on the next rooftop. It was forbidden for Safriel or Kalagis to seek Jasrien out, Jasrien knew that. But right now, he wanted nothing more than to see his friends. To feel Safriel’s hands in his hair. But it was not to be. There was just him. Not even any humans to distract him.

Jasrien had just managed to get somewhere close to sleep when there was a general commotion by the front door. Jasrien drowsily propped himself up again, craning his neck to get a view of what was happening, but the wall was in his way. Someone was crying. Jasrien’s eyes shot open when he realized that it was a child. Slowly, the fallen angel inched his way off the couch, swaying as he tried to not collapse. His stomach was not pleased with this ambulation, but he ignored it for now. Slowly, he turned the corner, taking in the scene before him. Figaro was on the ground, seemingly passed out, while the Sandoute and Pearson parties lied scattered around him. The witchling-- Charlie, they said their name was-- was desperately crying, burrowed into Zenthella’s side, and Jeanette had a death grip on Davie.

“Above and below,” Jasrien breathed. “What happened?”

“The gala was attacked,” Jeanette said quietly. “One of those gangs that have been around the city lately.”

“The Manes,” Davie supplied. He had found Charlie’s hand, and was holding it tightly.

“Yes. Them. Thanks.” Zenthella stood with great effort, and Jasrien noticed where part of her dress seemed to have been burned away, her exposed skin raw-looking.

“A gang did that?”

The witch winced, a hand coming to her side. “They did when their leader was a magi and they were all shielded from average weapons.” Zenthella had made her way into the kitchen, and was pulling down two kettles. The bright red one she sat on the kitchen bar, pulling the top off and exposing the candy within. “Eat,” she commanded the group. “I’m making tea. Jeanette, can you help Figaro up?”

Jeanette nodded, pulling the weak familiar to his feet. Figaro took a few steps before falling back down in front of the couch, his form melting away until a large dog took his place.

“He’s spent,” Zenthella said with a pitying shake of her head. “Getting you here and coming back,” she said with a nod to Jasrien, “before having to fight and warp all of us here. He just needs to sleep it off.” Having put the kettle on to boil, Zenthella turned to the pantry. “I’m making chicken noodle soup as well,” she announced, “and none of you are leaving until you’ve had a bowl.”

“There’s some quote here about strange bedfellows,” Jasrien murmured to Jeanette as the two settled down on the witch’s couch. The witch in question was already bustling around the kitchen getting everything in order; Zenthella seemed to have no time for her burn or her own obvious fatigue. Maybe this was the way she worked through and past the stress. Care for others. Make some soup. Be busy, don’t think.

“Yeah.” Jeanette let out a deep breath, glancing around. It didn’t look like an anxious marking of exits, but Jasrien also knew Jeanette. “Where did the kids go?”

“Charlie’s room,” Zenthella called out without missing a beat. She didn’t seem to miss a thing.

Jasrien found a pillow, inclining slightly to talk to Jeanette. “What was it like?”

“The attack? Horrifying. We were on the stage, and we had just gotten… these…” Jeanette’s fingers trailed to the medal still around her neck. “And then there was gunfire. And the Manes just entered, and security’s guns didn’t touch them. And they gunned down the security force and just demanded us to hand everything over. But then…” Jeanette looked past Jasrien to where Zenthella was dicing carrot. “She just went into action. I’ve never seen anything like it. She just started shooting lightning like she was some sort of god. And she dueled the leader, the one who was a witch or whatever, as well as like three other regular guys with guns. And then Charlie, Charlie got up on a table from where they were with Davie and just started holding down their fort. And Figaro got me and took me to Davie, but before we could go Zenthella had gone to get everyone out, but she was attacked by the leader. And Charlie just…” Jeanette bit her lip.

“The tea’s ready.” Zenthella sat out a number of mugs, placing them on the counter with a little more force than necessary. The sounds of the ceramics hitting the countertop beat into Jasrien like a pulse. Zenthella placed a tea chest on the counter next to the mugs, selecting a bag for herself before gesturing to the others. Jeanette got up, putting a hand down to stop Jasrien when he tried to follow.

“Just rest, Jas. I’ll get it for you.”

Jasrien nodded, falling back into his pillow. “I’d like-”

“You’re getting ginger,” Jeanette said over him.

Zenthella hid a smile behind her mug, giving the soup one final stir on the stove before leaving it to simmer. She bent down to pet her dog as she made her way past him, whispering something into his ear. Then she straightened, heading down the hall.

“You missed Percival’s speech,” Jeanette said as she handed Jasrien his tea.

“Oh?”

“Don’t feel too bad. If the drinking hadn’t made you sick, he would have. It was this rambling, near-incoherent thing talking about the future and suffering and then fairies in the woods.”

“Are there faeries in the woods?”

Jeanette shrugged. “Why would I know that if you don’t?”

“I think there are,” Zenthella said, turning the corner. She had changed into sweats and taken off her jewelry. “Every now and then people go missing near the woods, and I don’t trust that something didn’t get them.”

Jasrien frowned. “Whole people?” Faeries would take things, but only the fae would take people.

“Mm.” Zenthella turned, regarding Figaro as he retook human form. “You look like shit.”

“Language.” Figaro turned over on his back, glancing up at Zenthella. “I’m the one who got you all here. A thank you would be nice.”

“You’ll get some soup and then go back to sleep.”

“Where’s Charlie?”

Zenthella didn’t say anything for a moment, instead dipping a spoon in to taste her soup. She added some pepper and tasted again, nodding. “I heard the shower running, so I presume there. Probably getting changed too. Davie’s with them.”

“Those two…” Figaro trailed off, looking at Jeanette and then Zenthella. “I’ll go let them know food’s almost ready.” The familiar slunk off, hiding a limp.

“He should still be asleep,” Zenthella said, not bothering to wait for Figaro to turn the corner. “He’s just pushing himself. He is… deeply protective. Of me, always, but how quickly he took to Charlie when they came to live with us.” Zenthella tapped her spoon against the pot firmly, signaling that she was moving on. The soup was ready. Figaro emerged from the hallway looking absolutely haggard.

“They’ll be out in a minute.” 

Zenthella nodded at her familiar’s words. She summoned her baton and gave a firm rap against the kitchen counter. Bowls began to move on their own, lining up at the pot to receive Zenthella’s soup. Glasses lazily floated to the kitchen bar, waiting to be filled. Beside him, Jasrien noticed Jeanette stiffen. She was shaking slightly; Jeanette had been shaking the entire time.

“You’re safe,” Jasrien said, bumping Jeanette with his arm. “You can stop now.”

“What?”

“You’re shaking,” Jasrien pointed out. “Your breathing is all funny too, now that I’m paying attention. Just relax. Your life is too short to keep being stressed like this. It’s not good for you.” Jeanette said nothing, she just gave Jasrien an incredulous look before heading over to the counter. Jasrien tried to follow, but quickly made the decision to remain on the couch when his stomach threatened to give out. Standing was overrated anyway.

“Mom?” Davie was quiet, turning the corner, but his voice may as well have been a gunshot. Jeanette nearly dropped her bowl, letting the ladle fall where it wanted as she spun, moving to embrace her child.

“Davie,” Jeanette choked out, holding him as if he would disappear.

“It’s okay,” Davie said, awkwardly patting her arm. “We’re here.”

“I’m never letting you leave the house again,” Jeanette said, pulling off a moment to let Davie breathe. “It’s just us. We have to take care of us.”

“I know,” Davie said, glancing at his feet. “Good thing Charlie was there, wasn’t it?”

Jeanette’s mouth pulled, and she glanced over her shoulder. Zenthella was filling bowls where Jeanette had stopped. “Yeah.”

“Speaking of,” Davie said, directing himself to Zenthella and Figaro, “Charlie said they’re going to rest. They’ll have something later.”

Figaro glanced up from where he was slumped at the table, breathing in the steam from his soup. “I’ll go and…”

“No.” Even Davie seemed surprised at his tone. A little too authoritative for a teenager, a little too desperate for everything to be okay. The voice of a friend serving a friend in need. “Charlie… wants to be alone.”

“Then we’ll eat without them.” Zenthella cast the bowls to the table, followed by glasses of water and the candy kettle. If she was worried, she didn’t show it. Jeanette took a bowl to Jasrien, who had managed to get his feet back on the couch. “I’ll save a bowl for them.”

“Are you going to be able to get home, or is the familiar going to have to warp you?”

“Figaro?”

“Yes.”

Jasrien took the bowl, looking up at Jeanette. “We’ll see. And seriously, stop worrying. It’s concerning me.”

“What?”

Jasrien waved a hand in front of his face. “You’re all scrunched and fretting, and you’re still shaking. Come on now.” Once again, Jeanette didn’t say anything, she just gave Jasrien a look. He wasn’t sure what to do with a look, but he nodded and accepted the soup. Jasrien breathed in the scent of the broth before taking a sip-- it was quite good. Especially on such short notice. Jeanette sat down heavily at the table, her spoon idly stirring her bowl. She took no bites though, her eyes tracking Davie as he scarfed down his portion.

“It’s not going anywhere,” she chided, massaging her temple.

“It’s just really good,” Davie said. “Thank you,” he added, nodding towards Zenthella.

Zenthella was cut off by a ringing phone. She glanced down, sucking a breath in through her teeth. “I have to take this. Hello? What? You heard? Yes, I’m fine, Fig’s fine, Charlie’s not hurt. But how did you…? The news? Already? And… what? What? Shit. Sorry. No. No!” Zenthella’s hands were working their way up her face, and dread was breaking through into her exterior. “Fig, turn on the TV.” She turned back into the phone. “Viral? Like, viral viral? Fuck. I’m not apologizing for that. Q’s gonna be pissed.” A pause, followed by a look at Jeanette. “Q. I have guests. Yes. Yeah. Charlie’s friend’s family. Yeah. I will. Love you too.” Zenthella clicked off the phone just as Figaro turned to the news report.

“-attacked, with current casualties unknown. Eyewitnesses say they saw a witch, identified as Dappled Zenthella Sandoute, fighting the would-be thieves. Ms. Sandoute was at the Gala as an honoree for her previous humanitarian aid during the collapse of the Kiger Building. Also on the scene was what appeared to be a child, also fighting off the gang.” And there it was. A grainy photo of Charlie up on the table for the world to see. “The child is unidentified as of now, is there a connection to Ms. Sandoute? Were there other witches at the Gala? We will keep you updated as the story develops. I’m Nadja Saint-Faire, wishing you a good night.”

“I’m so sorry,” Zenthella said, returning her bowl to the kitchen, “but you all need to leave. Sooner rather than later.”

“That’s fine,” Jeanette said, rising. “It’s getting late any-”

“I want to stay,” Davie said, hands flat beside his soup bowl. “Charlie needs someone.”

“Charlie has them,” Jeanette said gently, laying a hand on Davie’s shoulder.

“No, they… they need me to stay. I need to stay for them.”

“Kid.” Now that Davie knew Figaro was a dog, the growl was harder to miss. It was still subtle, but it underlied everything the familiar said. “We’ve got this. This house is about to be a shitshow, and you don’t want to be caught in it.” Figaro glanced over to Jasrien, who had been quietly sulking to himself. “Do you need me to get you home?”

“No.” Jasrien pulled himself to his feet, only paling a little. “I am the picture of health.”

“Sure.”

Zenthella pressed a tupperware of soup into Jeanette’s hands, gently but unyieldingly guiding her to the door. “I really am sorry to be ushering you out like this. Call when you get home, Davie should have my number but it’s on the lid just in case. If you need help with him too, call, and I can send someone. I’m sorry.” And then Jeanette and her family was out the door, the lock clicking into place behind them.

“That was… weird,” Davie said lightly.

“Witches,” Jasrien said, shaking his head. “They’re always in a tizzy. Someone just got framed, someone just got exploded, it’s all rush rush rush.”

Davie put his hands flat on the door, trying to peer back inside via the peephole. “Is no one going to talk about the fact that this door doesn’t line up with the house interior?”

“What?”

“The door. This door faces west. We exited through a door that faces north. We just. Just.”

“Witch space,” Jasrien said with a shrug. “It happens. Spend more time around the transmundane, and it gets easier.” Davie didn’t say anything, choosing to just stare at the door with contempt. Jeanette too had taken a step away, and was eyeing the threshold with suspicion. “Let’s go,” Jasrien said, slowly making his way to the elevator. His stomach wouldn’t allow steps. Getting home was going to be awful.


End file.
